


Burning Amidst an Ocean

by LFB72



Series: Confessions [1]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Drowning, Gen, Hurt Merlin, Scars, Secrets, Sick Character, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-08
Updated: 2015-11-03
Packaged: 2018-04-25 12:06:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 24,174
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4960003
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LFB72/pseuds/LFB72
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Merlin is tricked, putting himself in danger, and it is up to Arthur to save him. With Merlin weak and vulnerable, will Arthur have it in him to care for his servant? What secrets will he discover?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Calling

**Author's Note:**

> This is set sometime after season four and is cannon era. It is 10 chapters  
> Many thanks to Caldera32 my wonderful beta.

Chapter 1: The Calling

[](https://imgur.com/cPCHQFE)

The situation was not good, in fact it was disastrous. Merlin would die soon. He needed to act quickly, but for some reason the servant was not inclined to do so.

As a powerful warlock he had command over all the elements and yet he harboured a paralysing fear of one of them. Despite being able to cup a flame in his palm, impervious to the heat, fire still scared him. He would be lying if he said he did not visualise what had befallen his kin when he saw a pig on a spit.

The servant had a real terror of being roasted alive for what he had been born with and had no choice over. Hundreds had perished at the hand of Uther: women and children, innocent along with the guilty; the tyrant did not care. They were all the same to him -evil. Burning was the king's favourite form of execution, perhaps because even a mighty sorcerer would fail to rise from the ashes. The genocide would never have stopped, Uther took too much pleasure from it.

These thoughts plagued Merlin when he felt vulnerable and alone, and were enough to turn his stomach. As the cook, he would be forced to leave the campsite, for fear of vomiting over the meal he prepared. No one knew why he took himself off to seek solitude in some petty task, but he did; returning later, composed but hungry.

 _Funny what flashes through your head when your life seems to be slipping away_ , he mused.

Merlin's lungs were ablaze, a sharp pain seared his chest as he tried and failed to catch his breath. Sweet air, so often taken for granted, was out of reach. His throat was raw and the lifeblood so vital to his being was turning to acid, scorching him from within.

Merlin would have found the irony funny if the circumstances had not been quite so dire. His worst fear was realised, he was being consumed by fire and asphyxiated, but instead of flames the warlock was engulfed in salty liquid. Drowning amidst an ocean, a sea of endless cold so intense he felt hot and numb. The helpless servant could no longer feel his extremities or work out where he was. He was disorientated, the darkness around him so absolute he wasn't even sure if his eyes were open or closed.

His brain was running out of oxygen, his thoughts becoming harder to catch and piece together.

Why was he even here?

Did it matter? He would see her again, be with her again, no longer alone...she was here wasn't she?

Had it not been her voice that beckoned him, full of promises that ensnared his heart?

It had been her song that caught his attention and summoned him to the deck where he scanned the water, looking for her form. He'd caught fleeting glances but had to get closer, had to see her face again. It had been so long the details were starting to fade and that could not be allowed to happen. He could not forget her.

Suddenly the fog lifted and his thoughts sharpened, all too late Merlin realised his mistake.

_Freya rests peacefully in Avalon - in the lake, not here. She would never have tricked me or made me follow._

Arms clamped tightly around his torso and pulled. He was incapable of stopping them.

A wicked voice lanced through his mind.

" _Welcome Emrys, we have been waiting for you."_

* * *

Arthur strode regally across the stern of the ship, sure-footed despite the gentle rocking from side to side. He looked in every way the 'Once and Future King' he was. The royal relished the crisp breeze that caressed his face and blew through his blond hair, taking a deep breath and enjoying the exhilaration of being on the open sea.

It was a small party: the king, two knights - and he'd brought Merlin of course. It would be good for the naive young man to see other kingdoms and broaden his horizons. Arthur had been somewhat amused when he'd seen his manservant staring transfixed at the blue waves breaking against the bow. He'd been like that for an hour, as if nothing else mattered. Merlin always was one to be in awe of nature.

The king had been on this journey as a boy, but had never been allowed on deck as they had passed through this part. His father's hatred of all things mystical had prevented that.

There were stories that this bit of the ocean was not safe. Sirens called and ships were wrecked, dignitaries and kings were no exception. Allegedly the strongest and most powerful on the vessel would be targeted and seduced by sweet voices and singing that could not be resisted. The force of their grip was such that the victim would willingly throw themselves overboard to be with a loved one only to sink into the limitless depths and die in the arms of a monster.

The ship's captain was a suspicious man and did not like taking this route. However, it was the fastest and Arthur had not wanted their return journey to be delayed. Despite Merlin's protests that the old man may have a point they had pressed on with the original course. The captain had suggested the monarch go below deck but Arthur had dismissed the notion. He had finally compromised and tried to humour the man by tying a coil of rope tightly around his waist and attaching it to the mast, leaving just enough slack for freedom of movement - even if he did look slightly ridiculous.

The knight's barely concealed sniggers had not been lost on the king, however his servant had been strangely quiet. Merlin's incessant chatter could be tiresome but its absence felt wrong, he missed it – like a bird without its song.

Arthur looked up, aware that the atmosphere had changed. It had suddenly gone cold, the air still and devoid of any sound.

The sight he saw froze his heart, words caught in his throat. Merlin was standing on the rail, his body rigid as if he were an extension of the wooden platform he was standing on, a figurehead. His black hair swept from his usually animated face, which instead was stony and blank; his tall slender frame accentuated with arms splayed away from his sides.

The king knew what was going to happen. He could see it before the event took place but was powerless to prevent it. He called out and ran towards his servant as Merlin tipped forward, displacing himself from his perch and plunging down. Arthur heard the splash and reached the side just in time to see his friend disappear beneath the waves, leaving a white circle of foam and spray in his wake which quickly dispersed, the water claiming its prey and hiding the evidence.

 


	2. The Fight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur does what he can to save his servant, but will it be enough?

Chapter 2: The Fight

Arms wrapped around his chest, a tight band crushing what little life was left. Merlin's efforts to prise the skeletal fingers apart were futile. He kicked, punched, and fought to get away - to no effect.

" _We felt your presence; we felt it from leagues away. Your soul will be ours Emrys and it will serve us well."_ The words cut into his skull, his addled brain registering only half the content - but he got the gist.

" _ **líesing"**_

The spell was useless, the creature that clung and clawed at him was relentless and it would not let go. A mane of long brown hair swirled in the water, the face was pointed and cruel with rows of sharp teeth bared in a grimace.

_Freya? He was a fool – caught by a grotesque monster._

" _ **líesing, líesing"**_

The grip loosened and he broke free. A frantic swim towards the surface was interrupted by a sharp pain. A lock on his ankle and he was being wrenched downwards again.

" _We will feast on you and then your king"_

" _NO!"_

The siren had made a grave error. The warlock may be fading, weak and incapable, but the magic he possessed was infinite. It did not need instructions or incantations, only the incentive to act instinctively - to protect.

None shall threaten Arthur and nothing will take the king; especially not some vile, ignorant sea monster. It may have tricked the warlock, but it would learn the meaning of Emrys and the extent of his wrath.

It never stood a chance.

A blast of pure power was sent at the monstrosity that had hold of his foot, eviscerating the evil being. The energy created a reverberation forceful enough to be felt above.

_Arthur!_

That's all his mind could manage, but it was enough. Free at last, the sorcerer began his ascent; forcing himself forward with flailing arms and legs. Merlin was spent; the adrenaline was leaving his system, his magic had retreated and he was totally exhausted. It was too far and he wouldn't make it.

The warlock was barely conscious. Had he been able to articulate his thoughts, the sorcerer would have mourned lost opportunities and the chance to say good bye. Merlin yearned to be in death what he lacked the courage for in life – an honest man. If he was going to die, Arthur deserved the truth. But it was too late. Of all the ways he could have gone – and there were many -this was so pointless and it was not what he had envisaged, not at all.

Merlin was blind – he could feel himself drifting. It wasn't unpleasant, it did not hurt anymore. He felt strangely calm, he could rest now – sleep.

The servant was stunned out of his reflection, caught again.

He sent out a weak shock but the grip did not loosen. He was drained, so tired and he did not have it in him to fight. He tried, he struggled but it was no use. There was nothing left.

"I am sorry Arthur" was his last coherent thought.

* * *

"MAN OVERBOARD!"

The ship's bell rang out loud and hard. Arthur could feel the vibration of the deck as many bodies pounded towards him -the sound of something solid hitting the water had brought the knights running.

Arthur was already halfway out of his jacket when Leon caught his sleeve.

"Sire?"

The garment hit the floor. "I'm going after him."

"Sire, you're the king, you can't" Leon urged. He was trying to meet the royal's eye as Arthur ducked up and down, discarding a boot.

"Can't what?" the second boot skidded across the bearded knight's path, "see Merlin die?" Arthur placed his foot on the rail and began to climb. "Damn it Leon, he's my friend and I don't want to lose him".

Leon caught the monarch's arm, "let me go" the knight pleaded.

The king continued his frenzied ascent, pausing briefly to turn towards the curly-haired man. "You are a fine knight, the best, but not in the water." The athletic royal had reached the top rung "I am by far the best swimmer." Arthur thrust the rope into Percival's hand, "hold this, we will need your strength to pull us out."

Arthur was balanced on the rail that moments before had held his servant. He pushed off with his feet and entered the water like an arrow, gaining depth quickly.

Percival and Leon exchanged looks, Merlin was a friend but Arthur was their King and if they had to, they would tear him from the waves with or without his servant. Their sovereign had two minutes at best before the knights would take matters into their own hands.

Arthur knew the water would be icy, but it was still a shock. Had he had time to reflect, he would have cursed his servant for his attire. Today Merlin would have to choose the blue tunic to go with the brown jacket and trousers - a red one would have been much easier to spot. Muted colours were hard to make out in the gloom.

There was a bright light; a large wave hit the king, buffeting him. It took a moment for the current to settle and for Arthur to gather his senses. As the scene cleared he could spot a figure beneath him thrashing about and trying to swim upwards, getting progressively slower and uncoordinated.

_Merlin – he's still alive!_

Arthur's heart sang and he kicked hard with muscular legs, propelling himself towards his flailing friend. The blond man located the jacket's collar and curled an arm firmly around his servant's ribs. Merlin struggled; a mass of pointed joints and lanky limbs, he fought valiantly against his saviour -but he was no match for the stronger man. A sharp pain shot through Arthur's arm but he would not let go of his precious prize.

The royal tugged hard on their lifeline, then secured his hold around Merlin. He was flooded with relief as the rope was pulled taught and they began their ascent. Arthur felt the pressure rise in his chest as his air ran out, Merlin had been under longer and the fine trail of bubbles leaving the younger man's lips had ceased.

After what seemed like an eternity they broke through the surface and were clear of the water. As they were winched up the side of the ship, Arthur felt his hips and back crash against the hard wood. He hissed in pain but his servant who was similarly bashed and buffeted remained still and silent. Arthur could feel his own heart bang persistently against his chest in stark contrast to Merlin's barely palpable beat - making the king truly fear for the motionless bundle he held in his arms.

The knights rejoiced as the duo was wrenched from the ocean. The king was very much alive, shouting orders and struggling to maintain his grip on the limp and lifeless body of his servant. Their initial joy vanished, instantly replaced by dread - did Arthur carry his unconscious friend or was he merely returning a corpse?

* * *

 

TBC


	3. Safety At Last

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur and Merlin are pulled onto the deck.

Chapter 3: Safety at Last

The knights worked with urgency, they needed to check the servant for signs of life and secure the safety of the king. Pandemonium erupted as the two men were frantically hoisted over the rail and onto the deck by Percival and Leon.

There was an explosion of noise and shouting. Everything seemed so loud and too bright after the quiet darkness beneath the waves. Arthur was being jostled and rolled, many hands lowered him onto his back and extracted Merlin forcefully from his arms.

The king had lost the thread of his servant's beating heart. It was vital that Merlin was attended to and yet for a moment, he felt an urge to protect the younger man and keep him close. Arthur did not want to be parted from his friend but the body he clung to was cold and immobile. Merlin needed help – so he relinquished his grip and the servant was immediately pulled free of his grasp.

There was a whirl of activity around him, yet the world turned in slow motion. A warm blanket was thrown over the king's shoulders and he was helped to his feet, all the while protesting he was fine. Arthur's awareness was only for the man prostrate and motionless on the deck. He wanted to help, but his body denied him. The knights gave the servant their full attention and he took some comfort in that.

Leon was struck with a sickening sense of déjà vu. Last summer the knights had dragged two bodies from a river near Camelot, despite their best efforts one of the boys had died at the scene. The death mask of the adolescent had haunted Leon's dreams for months. Now Merlin's face held the same expression. The knight vowed he would not live through the same nightmare. Gaius had told him what needed to be done should such a tragedy strike again, and this time he was prepared.

"Merlin, Merlin can you hear me?" Leon called, shaking and pinching the unresponsive man. There was no reaction to sound or pain.

"I need some help here" he shouted, hastily looking for the large knight, but Percival was already there.

Merlin's lips were tinged blue and no air passed between them. The curly-haired knight's hand trembled as he took two fingers to the servant's throat, searching for a pulse – there wasn't one.

Panic surged as Leon adjusted his position, finding the notch under the jaw and between the muscles. Finally, he felt the weak and painfully slow beating of Merlin's heart. Relief overwhelmed him as he glanced up, nodding the news.

In no time, Leon had tipped the motionless man's head back, checking the mouth for any obstruction. It was full of water. Cursing, the bearded knight swiftly rolled the head to its side; water flowed from Merlin's slack jaw.

The servant was not breathing. Leon knew he had to get air into Merlin's lungs somehow; else the unconscious man's heart would give up completely.

In desperation, the knight placed his palm firmly on Merlin's brow and yanked back his head to clear the airway. Leon's other hand grasped the servant's chin and levered his mouth open.

Pinching the nose and forming a tight seal with his own lips, Leon blew life into the body and watched as the chest artificially rose and fell. Two borrowed breaths, and then suddenly there was an inhalation. The knight instantly pulled away and Merlin was hastily rolled onto his side.

Percival whacked the servant on the back with such force Arthur expected to hear a sickening crack, instead there was a sharp intake of breath and a guttural roar as Merlin spilled the contents of his stomach over the floor. He was dragged away from the mess, but still he did not stir. Colour returned to his lips, now no longer cyanosed but a much healthier pink.

The king started to shake, making the act of standing difficult if not impossible. Arthur dropped to his knees; Merlin was breathing more steadily now, but still had no voluntary movement. His inky black hair was slicked back from a face that was far too pale. Rivulets of water rolled off the still form, converging into a puddle beneath him.

Arthur reached out a hand and rubbed Merlin's shoulder, after no response the shoulder was vigorously shaken.

"Merlin, Merlin?"

Droplets rolled down the shaft of Arthur's blond hair, disguising those already tracking down his face and obscuring his vision. The royal sniffed and swiped the moisture away. He brought his arm to Merlin's hip and rocked him back and forth. The motion caused Merlin to convulse and retch again; the king had to move back against a tide of vomit and sea water expelled from the young servant.

Purge over, Merlin's eyelids flickered several times before the tired warlock eventually prised open heavy eyes. It took a moment for the blue orbs to stabilise and focus on his king, but when they did a small smile formed at the corner of his mouth, distracting from the grey pallor of his face.

"Arthur"

"Merlin, don't you ever do that to me again!" The king shouted but there was no venom in his words, only raw fear from nearly losing his friend.

"I'll try not to; it's not at the top of my list," croaked the servant.

"You idiot, what were you thinking?" Arthur chastised.

"I wasn't"

"Why does that not surprise me?" The king replied almost sounding resigned.

Merlin's half-lidded eyes were beginning to close.

"Never mind, you're safe now - everything is going to be alright" urged the blond man. Arthur truly believed his own words but he was not to know the trouble that lay ahead.

A faint chuckle gave way to harsh coughing involving the whole of Merlin's frail body. A slight tremor remained long after the cough subsided. The servant's eyes were firmly shut and he would not be opening them any time soon.

Arthur's tremor gave way to a violent shudder, as the day's events caught up with him. His vision speckled and turned monochrome before fading to black. Strong arms picked him up, carrying him to his quarters where he could fall into a deep sleep like his servant; however, it was a place that would hold no peace for either of them.

The dark haired warlock's ordeal was far from over.

* * *

When the king awoke several hours later, he did not feel rested. He had not slept well, plagued by a recurring nightmare, wherein his servant's motionless body floats face down in black water. In the dream Arthur was helpless and he watched as something was tethered to Merlin, dragging him down to bottomless depths. As his servant slowly rotated and spiralled away, piercing blue eyes had opened and he had mouthed the words

"I'm sorry Arthur".

It was at this point that Arthur had jerked awake with a scream. By the time Leon had reached him, the king was sweat-drenched and tangled within the sheets. Unfortunately, he had punched the loyal knight on the nose before coming to his senses.

Leon had proceeded to inform Arthur of what had happened whilst the king slept. The captain had made swift progress but they were at least two or three days from reaching the port and it would take the best part of a week to get back to Camelot from there. Whilst Leon had relayed the information, the knight had pinched his nose and rubbed at his cheek, a bruise already beginning to form.

The loyal knight had shared an important conversation with the captain but was not sure how best to broach the subject of what the old man had said - but the king needed to know.

"The captain thinks that Merlin needs to be watched" the curly-haired knight began.

"Well of course, what kind of men does he think we are?" The king retorted.

"He told me that Merlin should not have survived, that the sea spirits would be angry and may try and take him again" the knight continued, unable to look the king in the eye.

"That's nonsense, surely you don't believe that?" Arthur's frustration and irritability began to surface.

"There is more," Leon paused -his king really wasn't going to like the next bit- but he pressed forward, "the captain believes if an evil demon takes hold not only will the whole ship be in danger, it will kill the host. The only way to save the soul is to make the body it resides in so unbearable it's forced to leave."

The king dreaded the answer to the question he was about to ask,

"How does he propose we do that?"

"Beating"

"Excuse me?" the blond man was incredulous.

"The captain said they were able to save one of the crew from a near drowning by hitting and beating him until the poison was expelled, only then did the person survive."

"That's barbaric; someone could be killed if that was done to them!" An unbidden vision of his servant being set upon by an angry crew popped into Arthur's mind - he tried to banish it, but the image was persistent.

Leon hesitated before he continued, "that has happened – the captain said it was unfortunate but a necessary measure to protect the crew and the vessel."

"This is pointless Leon, Merlin will be fine; he woke up and spoke to me" but even his own words were not convincing.

The knight tried to make things better by offering an explanation. "The captain is not a physician, none of us are." He tailed off, not willing to state the obvious regarding Merlin's role on the trip as Gaius' apprentice. "I think the captain is only trying to make sense of what he has seen in the past, give meaning to what he does not fully understand."

"How so?"

"Last summer, a boy we pulled from the river near Camelot seemed fine. Gaius checked him over and all seemed well but he developed a fever. Gaius said dirty water must have got into his lungs and set up an infection. He developed a productive cough and was very sick."

"And you think this may happen to Merlin?"

"I don't know Sire, let's hope not."

"This boy, did he recover?"

"Eventually, it was close but Gaius' skill and management won out. Apparently the infection was on the right side – something to do with the shape of the lungs and the heart Gaius said. The boy was placed on his left to help drain his chest and get rid of the infected secretions, I even saw him being gently shaken- but this is supposed to help get more phlegm out by causing the tissues to vibrate – well that's what he told me" Leon replied proudly and then realised that the best physician in all the kingdoms was not with them and his enthusiasm waned.

The king rubbed a hand over his face, closing his eyes to try and give himself time to think.

_How had everything gone so spectacularly wrong in the space of a few hours?_

He tried to tell himself that he was worrying unnecessarily, that his servant would sleep the experience off just as he had. Unfortunately that was not to be.

Leon and Percival had dried Merlin and changed his clothes; he had been taken to his bunk below deck, but had barely stirred. The curly-haired knight raised concern that the young man had not yet woken and was a little warm. He asked his king what to do.

Arthur did not like it. There was no one free to watch his servant down there. He had a bad feeling that was only intensified by the dream he'd just had. To top it all, there was a superstitious captain and crew who may through fear and ignorance try and attack his servant if they as much as suspected something was amiss. Merlin would have to be kept out of the way. Arthur was a king, but he was still but a passenger on the captain's ship. Should the old mariner decide his servant was a problem needing to be dealt with, there was little the monarch could do.

He ordered a bed to be made up in his cabin – it was the only one big enough to house two beds. He'd been advised to rest after his dip in the ocean and it wouldn't do any harm to keep an eye on Merlin whilst he recovered. Arthur had the medical supplies Gaius had given them for the voyage and he had an ominous feeling that he would need them soon.

As Arthur predicted, it was not long before Merlin was showing signs of needing medical attention; however, there was no experienced physician to administer it. Merlin, in the role of Gaius' apprentice, had been the one tasked with looking after any of the crew if they got sick and now something was seriously wrong with him and there was no one with the skill to know what it was or what to do. The king glanced over at his servant who had started to thrash about; he observed the sheen that now covered his face and the pained expression he wore. The fight for Merlin's soul had already begun, but who would win? Would it be the fever, the angry mob or the frail young man? Arthur did not know, and it scared him.

 


	4. The fever

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Merlin's condition deteriorates and Arthur does not know what to do.

Chapter 4: The Fever

Arthur was thirsty; he could not get the salty taste to leave the back of his throat. Even after a drink and food the unpleasant sensation lingered. Merlin had not yet woken so hadn't taken any sustenance. The king assumed his servant would need hydrating too, especially since he'd purged himself of so much fluid already. It shouldn't be too difficult. The dark haired man barely weighed anything, so he would not be hard to manipulate and the movement may rouse him enough to sip some water.

Arthur was wrong in all his assumptions; Merlin was an awkward lump that did not respond to his handling. He was too warm, sweaty and slippery. Although the servant did not initially regain full consciousness, he was alert enough to know that someone was trying to put something in his mouth and he did not like it. Rather than being grateful, the agitated young man kept moving his head and pursing his lips so nothing could pass. The more the king persisted, the more Merlin resisted - anyone would thing he was being poisoned. After the dark-haired man nearly fell off the bed and had kicked and elbowed the king in the stomach, the royal had called for Percival's assistance. The giant held the gangly man down with difficulty as Arthur and Leon attempted to get water down the warlock's gullet. Thinking they had been successful, the three men backed off. The triumphant servant took the opportunity to spray the water all over his liege, and then defiantly swore his undying allegiance to the King of Camelot no matter what they (scoundrels –among other choice words) tried to do to him. Speech over, the exhausted young man collapsed in a heap on the floor.

Throughout the scuffle, Merlin had not even made it to his feet and yet somehow managed to elude and outwit three of Camelot's finest knights. The mêlée had resulted in many items being broken and misplaced. The king was amazed that his servant still managed to cause trouble and chaos even when he was half asleep. Arthur had also been struck by how loyal his servant had been, to the point of recklessness. He knew Merlin was his most trusted friend, a man who would follow him into any battle or any hardship –faithful to the end. It's just Arthur had never seen it first hand; Merlin had always been with him, at his side, not on his own furiously defending his king and all of Camelot against opponents much mightier than himself. The royal had been impressed, he had often teased his servant about being a coward and disappearing during skirmishes and yet here he showed all the same fight he had done the day he'd challenged a prince on first acquaintance. It was a shame the idiot did not realise his enemies were actually his friends.

The knights had cleared the room and helped put the weary warlock to bed. The king had also seen fit to retire. Percival had been tasked with explaining the noise away to the crew of the ship as the king and his servant celebrating their survival. All that was left to do was sleep and hope things would be better in the morning. They wouldn't be, but for now peace had descended on the cabin.

It was an unsettling night; Arthur had had the same dream as earlier and when he awoke, he couldn't see the servant – just a writhing and noisy mound of blankets. The sounds coming from the mountain of covers were indecipherable but he knew one thing for sure, the person making them was in distress.

"Merlin,  _Merlin_ , are you alright?" The bleary-eyed monarch asked with concern.

There was no audible response so Arthur made his way over to the buried form. There was debris all over the floor and the blond man swore as he nearly stepped on some broken glass.

_What was going on?_  As he got closer, the king could make out whimpers and snippets of words, not enough to comprehend but enough to know Merlin was having some kind of nightmare. Had the king listened more closely, he would have heard Merlin pleading for forgiveness and asking not to be burnt. He would have heard the words of the old religion and the confessions of a desperate man. As it was, the king heard his own name once or twice, Gaius, and some indecipherable utterances which he assumed were peasant curses. The royal thought he was the one responsible for breaking a clay cup whilst trying to untangle his servant.

Arthur began throwing off the damp covers but as quickly as he removed them long limbs would claw them back. Arthur was amazed to find himself on the losing end of a tug of war with his skinny servant.

The royal had never seen anyone that colour before - _mauve?_  The Dark-haired youth's face was flushed over a grey pallor, giving him a mottled appearance. Merlin's skin was hot and clammy and even to a novice his fever was obvious.

Arthur began to peel the scrawny man's tunic off. The fabric clung to its owner as the offending article was pulled over the head of the unhappy warlock. Merlin's torso came with his shirt and once his arms were liberated, he flopped back onto the bed like a rag doll, his breathing harsh and noisy. Opening the door a crack, the king hoped it would be enough to lower his friend's temperature. The cold air was certainly making him shiver, and he wrapped a discarded blanket around his own shoulders, gradually nodding off with the gentle rocking and creaking of the ship.

He awoke with a start, a sudden noise disturbed the monarch from his slumber but he must have been mistaken. It was deathly quiet. Having grown accustomed to the reverberation of wet, laboured breathing he suddenly found the silence unnerving. Merlin had not reclaimed any of his stolen covers, and he was lying very still. Arthur could not hear any noises or see the rise and fall of his servant's chest in the gloom.

There was still no discernible movement or sound from the body, and that really terrified the blond knight. Approaching with caution and a dry mouth, he tentatively put a hand onto his servant's ribs. They were moving - Merlin lived but his chest expansion was uneven; that's not all, Arthur could feel secretions beneath his fingers. Some sea water must have got into Merlin's lungs, an infection would explain the fever and delirium. The position he was in was not helping; the servant had gone from being silent to making an awful gargling sound at the back of his throat as he forced air in and out.

It was horrible and Arthur hated it but he did not know what to do. He shook Merlin's shoulder in a bid to wake him. There was no response, Arthur got a bit more vigorous but still nothing. Suddenly the king remembered the conversation he'd had with Leon about the boy that had almost drowned.  _Being placed on his left side had helped hadn't it?_  The right side of Merlin's chest was not moving as well. The blond man noted in horror the formation of new bruises that looked like handprints all over the sick man's trunk. Arthur wondered if he or the knights were responsible for such marks.  _Who else could it be?_  The thought repulsed him. Another loud grunt from Merlin took him from his thoughts. He rolled the servant so he was left-side lying -relieved to realise that terrible wet noise had been replaced by much more even breathing. Arthur put a hand on his servant's ribs, they were moving more freely and the young man seemed more settled. Arthur let out a sigh, he had a new respect for the physician and had no idea how Gaius did his job. Absently he fumbled with the clasp on the medical kit and spoke to himself more than his servant.

"Help me out here Merlin, what do I do?"

He was looking at little bottles, potions, lotions and tiny pots. He had absolutely no idea what any of them did, the one in his hand had a skull and cross bones. Startled, he dropped it back in the bag with a shudder –  _why was there poison in there, this was supposed to belong to healer?_ He picked up another vial, opened the lid and gave it a sniff. Recoiling, he quickly put the top back on. Whatever possessed him to think they wouldn't smell as bad as every medicine he'd ever tasted he didn't know, but he felt compelled to check them all -except for the poison.

"Gaius?" Merlin slurred.

"Merlin!" Arthur tried to keep the joy out of his tone.

"Arthur.., Where..., Arthur?"

"I'm here!" The king stated expectantly.

"Gaius, mistake..., tricked.., wasn't her," the servant continued, flustered.

"Who, who tricked you?" The blond man was totally confused now, and such was his intent in making sense of the words he missed the movement.

Suddenly, in a mad frenzy, Merlin tried to haul himself into sitting. The servant had used an elbow to lever himself up and Arthur had to quickly angle himself out of the way to avoid being hit. The sick man was blind to his king; instead his gaze was fixed firmly on the desk in the corner of the room.

"Arthur .., destiny..., protect...," the warlock managed, stilted, his breathing quickened as he forced air in and out his nose like a stampeding bull. He raised a trembling arm towards the offending piece of furniture – hand splayed. "Stay away" he said with more authority and determination than his current condition would suggest possible.

Arthur's attention flicked incredulously between the table and the deranged man on the bed. The blond knight's reflexes took action as he grabbed both of Merlin's arms, causing him to crumple and collapse back down.

"Merlin, what are you doing – you're ill, you need to rest..., Merlin?" The royal trailed off; there was nothing, no response to his pleading, "Merlin?"

The little burst of activity seemed to have exhausted the warlock; he'd collapsed again and could not be roused. It did not appear to be a restful slumber but it was preferable to the wet and difficult breathing of before. Arthur surveyed the sleeping man. He'd very seldom seen Merlin without his shirt, hell he was practically naked if he wore a tunic without the neckerchief. Arthur recalled the texture of his servant's skin, it was not smooth. It was marred and puckered in places, in a lot of places, the light was not good so it was hard to see but he could feel. Arthur's calloused fingers brushed against an area of flesh that stood in relief against the rest. What had his servant been through to bear such scars and how had he kept it hidden? They had all laughed at his apparent bashfulness but had thought it was nothing more than insecurity over physical inadequacies when compared to the war-hardened bodies of the knights. It would appear there was a little bit more to it than that. Merlin shifted,

"Freya?"

Arthur's curiosity spiked.  _Who was Freya?_  Merlin had called the name several times this evening but never before. His servant had only just settled, so as much as the king wanted to know the identity of the mystery woman he knew it was more important for his friend to rest. "Shh, Merlin, go back to sleep" Arthur rubbed gentle circles on the servant's back and the troubled man calmed. He had never seen Merlin look so weak and vulnerable. For all the bravado and banter he enjoyed, right now he just wished his servant could hear him when he willed him better and told him he was the best friend he ever had. The king said things that later he would forget or would never have admitted if Merlin had been awake, but it was the truth -even if it could not be said out loud.

Arthur must have fallen asleep again; he woke to a cold draught on his face. He had been leaning on the bed - an empty bed.

"Merlin?" His voice was hoarse with worry.

There was only one place he could go - Arthur ran for the deck. There was a member of the crew slumped by the door and shouts coming from above. Arthur arrived just in time to see Percival go down. How a runt like Merlin could fell a tree of a man like Percival was a mystery and one the king did not have time to ponder.

"Merlin!"

Merlin was standing, but only just. He was swaying, his thin frame silhouetted in the moonlight such that he almost glowed. He turned and looked at Arthur, but he did not see.

"You can't stop me." The servant managed to look imposing standing there, swaying in the breeze and far too close to the side of the ship.

Never one to back down from a challenge, Arthur launched himself at the defiant servant. They landed on the deck. Merlin's gaze found his king's, his blue eyes were unnaturally bright.

"You killed her!"

Arthur tried to reason, "Merlin, LISTEN TO ME, you're not well."

"You killed her!"

"Merlin!"

Arthur could feel resistance, his servant pushing against him with remarkable strength, he felt Merlin's skin beneath him, and it seemed to be getting hotter, burning even. Arthur lost it. He had hold of the sick man's chest and shook it vigorously; he had no idea what he was doing.

Suddenly, a blast of icy water hit him in the face; he stopped, coming to his senses.

Merlin began coughing, a harsh rattle. The king recoiled and Merlin rolled into the foetal position, continuing to cough until he cleared a thick green slug from the back of his throat. The phlegm expelled, Merlin's panting became regulated breaths. Just before his body started convulsing in earnest and Merlin slipped back into the relative bliss of unconsciousness, his head turned to the sovereign

"Arthur?"

"I'm sorry Merlin" Arthur replied – and he was, for everything that had befallen his friend.

Leon just stood there surveying the scene, empty bucket in hand. He wondered what the gathering crew and Captain would make of it all.


	5. The Patient

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Merlin tries to make sense of the world but can't distinguish friend form foe.

Chapter 5: The Patient

Merlin was drifting, not sure if he was dreaming or awake. He could not orientate himself to his environment. Sounds, smells, voices, and motion all told him things were happening around him but the servant could not fit it all together. Pain was overriding all else, he tried to focus his attention on it to devise where he was hurt and what had happened- but it eluded him. He ached everywhere, his whole skeleton deep into the very marrow of the bones. No position was comfortable, no matter how he shifted. His skin was too tight, it felt like it would split and tear under the slightest provocation. The texture and weight of anything resting against his flesh became too much, but no sooner had he rid himself of such burdens he would feel incredibly cold and shivered uncontrollably. The warlock felt parched; his lips were dry, his throat sore, and a rancid taste lingered at the back of his mouth.

Someone was trying to sit him up – of that he was certain. Merlin knew he ought to open his eyes – but he could not remember how. Eventually he prized the sticky lids open, but it did not help matters, nothing was familiar. A strong arm supported his back; he flinched away from the uncomfortable grip. A water skin was brought towards his lips and although he wanted the liquid to ease his raw gullet, instinct told him not to.  _What if it's poison? They must have drugged me already, is that why I don't remember – why I hurt?_ The servant was determined; he had to keep his wits about him so he could protect Arthur - _Where is Arthur?_

There were three now _, Where had the other two come from?_  The warlock struggled and evaded them as best he could – satisfied he'd landed some blows. He tried to locate his magic but couldn't quite catch it, although he sensed it was helping him - even if he wasn't in control. Some giant was holding him down, he could not breathe. As he gasped, fluid was forced into his mouth, almost making him gag. He pretended to swallow. Once the pressure lifted, he spat the poison out. He would not betray his king or Camelot no matter what they did and the servant used the last of his strength to tell them so. Happy he had not succumbed to their wishes he gave into the darkness that had been playing at the corners of his vision. He would fight again when he was rested.

Merlin was having a terrible dream wherein Arthur was floating face down in black water and he was powerless to help him, his magic had no effect despite his efforts to use it. Arthur's body rotated around in a spiral as something clung to his king and pulled. Arthur's head bobbed up and he looked the servant in the eyes mouthing,

"Sorcerer!"

"Arthur!" The warlock panted, shaking himself awake with a start. It took a moment to realise that he was not in water, although droplets clung to his body and fell from his hair. He was not being consumed by a sea monster but where was he? It was dark, cold, there was a sound of running water and he was restrained and bound tightly – dungeons. Arthur must have discovered his secret, he'd had him beaten -his body ached all over. Then the realisation hit Merlin like a slap in the face, his king was going to burn him!

Panic surged through his weakened system. He could not move, could not see, and could not catch his breath. His body sensing the rising distress intervened and in a bid to stabilise his erratic condition he was sent back to unconsciousness and the world of dreams.

The warlock's nightmare was a familiar one, it had haunted him for many years, but its frequency had not diminished the terror. He was tied to a stake. Ropes cut into his arms, numbing his fingers. His ankles strained against the uneven logs beneath his feet. He could feel the rough wooden pillar between his shoulders. His head, back, and hips were all points of contact restricting his movement. Crowds were beginning to gather, from his vantage point on the pyre he recognised faces – those he thought were friends but could no longer meet his eye. A light wind blew through his hair and made him shiver; he caught the scent of the torch that had been lit in readiness to set him alight. All that was left was the speeches. He turned towards the balcony and saw Uther scowling and Morgana smirking but where was Arthur? He needed to see Arthur but the prince was not there. He needed to escape to gather his magic but they'd suppressed it somehow. He searched for Arthur, he called his name – begged him to see sense. He was not a traitor, all he had done was to serve and protect Camelot and the ones he loved. He could not go to his death without seeing the face of the man he thought of as his friend. He wasn't ready. It was too late, he could see the flames as the executioner walked towards him, he felt their heat and he screamed.

It is at this point that Merlin is usually wrenched from sleep. It takes a moment to view his surroundings and ground himself, to know what is reality and what is not. Unfortunately, his fevered mind could not do that, could not separate fact from fiction – thus, neither dream or waking states held peace.

He came to with a muzzy head; he looked about the room and spotted Arthur's recumbent form. Arthur was with him, that meant they were both captives and his secret was still his own. He sighed in relief. His death may be imminent but...  _What was that noise – heavy breathing, growling?_  Merlin searched the shadows for the source of the sounds. It was difficult to see, sweat stung his eyes and his vision dipped in and out of focus but there was a presence. There - a dark shape! He couldn't make out what it was but two orbs of light stared at him threateningly. A sharp pain seared through the warlock as he raised his arm, this creature must have attacked him already and he could not let it go after the king.

**"Astrice"**

Merlin blinked and was pushed back by the force of his own spell. The impromptu use of magic had drained him of the little energy he had and he was asleep before the chair hit the floor. He did not hear it clatter and fall or the glass shatter.

The next time he woke it was cold. He was shivering and had to get warm. Layers were summoned but he still felt like ice. Sweat trickled down his back, it pooled in the cleft of his bent elbow and the crook of his knee. Merlin did not register his body's attempt at cooling him down. He was oblivious to the danger of the rigors that would develop if his temperature continued to rise.

A weight vanished from his head and shoulders allowing light to pierce him. Turning his head away from the brightness he dug his fists into the blanket, not wishing to relinquish its warmth. He fought hard but the energy expenditure exhausted him and in the end he gave up the fight.

His right side throbbed,  _had he been stabbed, mauled?_  Every breath he drew was painful and his ribs burned. Merlin reached for his side expecting to find a dressing, but there was nothing aside from bare skin. It was sticky and the smell was putrid but it was not blood as he expected – just stale sweat. He was thirsty for air but each pained breath did not seem to be enough to satisfy him. He felt like he was drowning and wanted to clear the water from his throat, but couldn't find the energy and was sent back to darkness.

This time when he surfaced he felt a little better, perhaps because at last he sensed the familiar. He could smell rosemary and thyme (among others) and there was that reassuring sound of Gaius working - clinking bottles. A firm hand was rubbing his back.

"Gaius?"

Gaius had come to help; he needed to tell the physician everything that had happened.  _What had happened? Freya, burning, drowning, pain, monsters and what else? Arthur, destiny?_ He could not gather his thoughts, only snatches of fragmented images. It hurt his head to even try and think – so he went with what was most important.

"Arthur..., where..., Arthur?" He could hear the creature again; he must have only stunned it. He tried to get up and finish the job but Gaius pushed him back down. He needed to work out what to do, it was just so tiring, if he could only gather his thoughts for a second - he'd be able to think of a way out, he just had to rest for a moment. A moment turned into more, he slept again but it was not restful sleep – mixed up pictures and events of the day blended into one. It lasted maybe a quarter of an hour before he roused, sensing someone there next to him. He stirred and strained to see.

"Freya?"

"Shh Merlin, everything is okay, go back to sleep" The warlock leaned in and was happy to obey the words.

This time he welcomed the dream because it was about her. He was back in Camelot, in the castle. She was walking in front of him, just out of reach. He could see her go around a corner and disappear from view so he would run to catch up only to see a swish of a skirt or the flow of her dark hair as she turned into a corridor or went down steps. Always the same distance ahead, never stopping - he could see her delicate figure as she danced before him but not her face and he desperately sought her beautiful features. Down he went; narrow passage ways, twisting in every direction. Finally she was there, still. Her back was to him, hair loose around her shoulders. He reached out a hand to touch her skin and she turned. The siren lunged at him; fingers clawed, eyes black, teeth sharp and it snarled  _"Did you think it would be easy Emrys?"_

He shrank back and fell, his stomach flipped as he crashed to the ground. If Merlin was well, he would have realised that he had merely fallen out of bed. As soon as he hit the floor he would have woken from his nightmare, but he could no longer tell the difference. Only one thought consumed him.

_Freya, Freya would make everything alright, where was she? He needed to see her._

He got up; he thought he had seen her go out through the door, so he followed. There were too many things in the way; he had to get past them and find her. Someone was calling his name, but she was calling his.

He could make out figures but none of them were who he was looking for. He was becoming impatient.  _He could make them go away couldn't he? He was Emrys the most powerful sorcerer ever and he could turn them to dust if he wished._

"MERLIN!"

The sound of the name - his name - penetrated his mind and drew his attention. He recognised the voice. He knew the tone. The warlock looked at the blond knight; he remembered now, this man had hurt Freya - that could not happen again.

"You can't stop me"

He could feel the magic build, flowing through his veins. Raw power drummed throughout his body making its way to his fingers, poised and awaiting his command. Before he had a chance to deal with the situation something barrelled into his side and knocked him to the floor. He looked into the eyes of the man who had murdered his love.

"You Killed her!" He spat, anger building inside – magic swirled, ready to do his bidding.

He was on his back, pressure on his chest. He was shaking, being shaken, head and shoulders banging against the wood and he could not catch his breath.

Suddenly, he was hit with an icy wall of water.

He could not catch his breath and he was coughing. His vision swam, his ears popped. Finally, when all seemed lost, he inhaled and forcefully expelled the plug that had caught in his throat. The air was sweet once more. The world tilted rhythmically from side to side and went in and out of focus. A shadow fell across his face.

"Arthur?" was all the warlock could manage before the lights went out; he did not hear the king's response, or the sound of the gathering crowd.


	6. Musings of a king

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur reflects on all he has seen.

Chapter 6: Musing of a King

Arthur just stared for a moment, transfixed, and tried to work out what to do. He could hear the crew, their hurried footsteps and shouts as they came to investigate the commotion. He had to do something; they had to get Merlin up and away from the deck where he lay motionless. But the king could not tear his eyes away from the bare alabaster chest, purple bruises and recently discovered scars being perfectly highlighted in the moonlight and holding his attention. Scant seconds had passed but it felt like a lifetime. The king was grasped firmly by his bicep and helped to his feet. Percival (fully recovered from his slip) then made his way over to the servant and began to kneel in readiness to scoop the unconscious man up in his arms, in a sickening repeat of the incident with the dorocha.

"No" hissed the monarch, putting his hand out to stop the giant.

Percival turned, pausing mid-crouch, and looked at the royal quizzically.

"Pretend he's drunk" Arthur said with urgency through gritted teeth. He directed the command at both his loyal knights and motioned to the approaching men.

Leon immediately joined his brother in arms and together they dragged Merlin to his knees. They secured his upper limbs round their shoulders and brought him up into standing, each placing an arm against the servant's pelvis to keep him upright. They could feel the furious heat rising from his thin frame and although light, he was not easy to handle in his current state. He did however resemble one who was inebriated, which was infinitely better than looking like he'd collapsed from the exertion of being deranged and possessed by a demon.

Arthur put on his most officious voice and addressed the gathering sailors.

"There's nothing to see here. Go back to your stations." He took a large breath and continued, "my servant has made a fool of himself by drinking too much and disrespecting his king – I will deal with this appropriately." Arthur faced his knights and made a show of saying "sober him up and bring him to my quarters for discipline." The king then turned and began marching forcefully towards his cabin, stopping to address a bunch of stragglers. "There is nothing to report, get back to work."

Leon and Percival were well practiced in the art of escorting drunkards – having walked Gwaine home from the tavern on numerous occasions. A convincing charade was displayed as they dragged Merlin's limp body towards the king's cabin. Unfortunately, they scuffed the tips of his toes and the dorsum of his bare feet against the deck as they went. Merlin's head lolled from side to side and his back arched uncomfortably, but eventually their destination was reached.

The crew member who had been slumped against the door frame was now awake. He looked a little dazed but not seriously injured – he was already on his feet.

"What happened here?" The king urged.

"I don't know, Your Highness" the man replied, looking slightly guilty and rubbing the back of his head. He gave a short bow. "I heard a noise and...I think I must have collided with the boy... he came running out of nowhere."

"Very well, if you're not hurt, you had best go back to your post." The royal replied, secretly happy the mariner had not witnessed anything. He wanted the man out of the way but was relieved he was unharmed.

As soon as the other sailor left, Arthur entered his chambers and let out a huge sigh. He bent over and grasped his knees trying to prevent the feeling of nausea that had washed over him. He changed his shirt and wiped his face to clear his head. By the time he had finished, his knights had arrived carrying his sick servant. They lay him down carefully. Being doused in cold water and exposed to the elements actually seemed to have helped - the blistering heat that had been radiating off the warlock in waves was now much reduced. Merlin's temperature was still too high and he was undoubtedly dehydrated, all factors contributing to his delirium and needing to be dealt with.

Getting water into the servant was much more successful the second time around, namely because he provided little resistance. Percival held him in a sitting position whilst fluid was trickled into his mouth. Gentle massage to his throat aided in stimulating a swallow reflex. A wet sheet was draped over the feverish invalid in a bid to soak up and disperse the excess heat. Merlin was restless. He talked in his sleep, he tossed and turned, but no longer seemed to be actively hallucinating -which had to be a good sign. The servant was positioned on his left side to aid in his breathing and help drain the secretions that had gathered in his chest. Once their patient had seemed more settled and they were sure Merlin's fever had broken, the knights departed, leaving the king alone with his servant and his thoughts. He felt sure the evenings exploits would make it back to the captain, providing fuel to an already suspicious mind.

As the first golden rays of sunrise made their way into the cabin Arthur thanked the gods for getting them through what seemed like one of the longest nights of his life. The king had slept- but not at all well, Merlin's wet breaths and coughing had kept him awake. A couple of times he had given his charge a gentle shake or slap on the back, it seemed to provoke a moist cough and help his friend clear the muck from his chest. A sip of water and he would drop into an easier sleep allowing Arthur peace to rest too.

The king assumed there had been rough seas during the night, although he couldn't really remember, things were smashed and moved about the cabin – it was the only explanation for such a mess. Considering the events of the last few hours, the royal felt sure the captain would pay him a visit - having undoubtedly heard about what happened on deck. He was not wrong in his assumptions.

Merlin no longer had a raised temperature, if anything he had gone the other way. Being lithe, he had little or no insulation and had not eaten sufficiently to provide the fuel for warmth. Blankets were draped over the servant's shoulders and he was propped up by Leon in readiness for taking some water and food.

He was awake in the sense his eyes were open and he followed basic commands, but little more than that. Arthur was relieved at seeing Merlin's improved state but saddened as his friend was yet to return- the man in front of him was a hollow shell, gone was the cheeky smile and dry wit. There was an edge of apprehension and it did not feel right. His servant was not supposed to be terrified, cry in anguish, or look totally lost – this was not Merlin.

The cabin door was nearly wrenched off its hinges as it was flung open. A livid captain stood inside the entrance, flanked by two members of crew.

"What is the meaning of this?" The king demanded, trying to impersonate his father's most intimidating tone. He knew the captain's intent only too well. He'd been expecting the confrontation all morning.

"I want that thing – him, off my ship." The captain raised his arm to gesture at Merlin. Spittle flew from his lips and his puce face contrasted with the white of his beard and hair.

Both the knights moved instinctively so they were in front of the servant, protecting him. Leon's right hand hovered over the hilt of his sword and his other arm prevented the dazed young man from sliding down the wall he was resting against.

"By thing, would you be referring to my manservant? He's done nothing wrong." The king challenged curtly.

"He," the mariner pointed his finger directly at the sick sorcerer cocooned in blankets "attacked three men!"

The royal's eyes widened "What men?"

"One of my crew and those two," the irate captain directed a furious glare at Percival, who had now made his presence known, and Leon, "just look at his face." The old seafarer indicated the bruise the curly-haired knight had acquired from his monarch.

"Explain." Arthur said buying time.

"There were witnesses; they saw your servant put down two knights." The captain was frantic now, "look at him - he's naught but skin and bone, there is no way he could do that if he weren't possessed by the spirits!" Hardly pausing for breath, he pushed on "Jimmy is one of my strongest crew and he knocked him out - just like that!" The old man snapped his fingers to add effect; his mouth was drawn in a scowl, eyes wide and not blinking. "Tell me how that is possible – if not for some devilry?"

Silence clung to the air; the captain's words reverberated around the now crowded and cramped cabin. The king inwardly cursed; he'd seen Percival crash to the deck, but Leon? This did not look good.

Percival was the first to answer "Merlin was drunk, he was running and I did not want him to hurt himself. I lost my footing and slipped."

Leon was the next to confess, "I tripped on a bucket – it was dark." He shrugged "This," his hand brushed over the bruise Arthur had provided the day before, "I acquired when King Arthur and his servant were lifted from the ocean yesterday, Captain Tobin sir." The knight nodded, giving the respect that had been denied him and his sovereign.

Arthur faced the captain, his manner a facade of calm but deliberate, "I spoke personally with that crew member and he informed me that he did not know what had happened –that he merely bumped into Merlin. My servant may be an idiot, clumsy and careless – but his only crime is he drank too much. He is my responsibility and he is certainly not possessed by evil spirits."

Merlin's timing was impeccable as always, he chose that moment to let out a hacking cough. Convulsions and the fight to rid himself of the sputum that blighted his current existence drew everyone's attention. Finally, the servant calmed, his shoulders rose and fell in time with his ragged breaths. Beads of perspiration had formed on his forehead as he blinked tears away from his eyes. Merlin slowly looked about the room in obvious apprehension and he visibly shrank into the shell of covers that surrounded him.

"He's sick!" The old man exclaimed. His eyes narrowed, focusing on the cowering servant. "What are you really?" The captain made a lunge at the invalid but was blocked by the strong arm of the king.

"That's enough!" The royal used his years of training as a knight to force the old man back as if he were using a human shield. "This ends now. Yes, he has a slight chill but that's all" the initial fury left Arthur and he tried to appeal to the captain, "I know what you think, I know what it looks like but I will not have you or any of your crew try and act out some barbaric antiquated ritual based on fear and superstition..."

The tirade was interrupted by a thready but familiar voice.

"My name is Merlin." The warlock blinked several times and looked like he was about to vomit but then continued "I am the loyal manservant to King Arthur of Camelot." He made to stand but was pushed back down by the firm hand of Leon.

Silence descended again.

The captain reviewed his options; the half-wit appeared lucid, that could not be denied and the king seemed to have very different views from those of his father. When the captain first met the young monarch he thought him a poor imitation of Uther – he thought him weak. He was wrong. King Arthur was strong and powerful. Camelot had prospered under his rule and continued to grow and form alliances. Should he lose favour, he would lose his livelihood. The old mariner was shrewd, he knew when the battle was lost – he would concede defeat. There was still something decidedly odd about that servant, but he would let it go.

Decision made, Captain Tobin did something he had not done in many years - he swallowed his pride and backed down.

"I apologise Your Highness, it would appear I was mistaken. I will ensure no harm comes to your servant at the hand of my crew."

Arthur nodded "Thank you." The hand that had braced against the captain's chest now rested on his shoulder. "You are a good man, and may the gods look after us for the remainder of the journey."

The old man nodded and bowed to the king. He exited the room followed by his two crew members - but not before he had stolen a glance at the object of all the discussion. The king followed his gaze; Merlin had not been able to hold out any longer and had fallen asleep. Arthur concluded that in his bemused state, his servant had probably failed to register the heated exchange or gather its content - and for that he was glad. It would not do for him to see his king defend him so – the royal would have never lived it down. In fact, it would be better if Merlin did not know how close he had come to being tossed over the side of the ship for a second time.

Merlin seemed to be improving over the course of the day; he was spending longer periods awake and appeared more aware of his surroundings. Arthur had considered trying to speed up the recovery by taking pot luck with the medical supplies until Merlin woke and, in a brief moment of lucidity, told him on no account was he going to drink a lotion for bunions. The physician's apprentice had taken matters into his own hands; he quickly located the correct vials, uncorked them with his teeth and knocked them back with a grimace. The knight had complained the script on the bottles was illegible, but his protests were lost on the ample ears of his servant as the medicine took effect and Merlin slipped back into oblivion; a brief foray into the waking world over within minutes.

Each time the servant awoke a little more of his personality returned, but he still spent a lot of time sleeping - except when he had to get up to answer the call of nature. Being on his feet and moving seemed to help rid him of the putrid sputum that clung to his lungs. He had taken to wrapping a blue blanket around his shoulders as he shuffled about. Initially, he cut quite a pathetic sight, bent over like an old man, but as his condition eased, his stature improved. On the second day, Merlin had tied the ends around his neck to free his hands and Arthur was struck by the sight of his servant in his blue cloak - he actually looked quite commanding standing at his full height. The king smiled to himself; he could not think of a situation when Merlin would need such attire, but he filed the image away nonetheless.

The captain was true to his word and there had been no more trouble. The talks had been successful, new alliances formed. Until they reached port Arthur had little else to do, so he mulled over all that had happened. He told the knights that Merlin fell overboard; the lanky boy was notoriously clumsy so it was not hard to believe, but did he believe it? He wanted to, but he could not rid himself of the image of his friend standing erect on the rail devoid of emotion. The servant had not jumped that is for certain, but neither had he tripped by accident. The king thought back to rumours about that part of the voyage,  _had something lured him into the water?_  But no one else had been affected; no one had seen or heard anything. There had only been Merlin and himself under the waves, he couldn't even remember there being any fish, let alone anything else. Arthur was determined to get to the bottom of it all but when he broached the subject it did not go at all well.

"So, what the hell happened?" The king began.

"I don't know" was the defensive answer.

"You don't know?"

"No, one minute I was looking at the sea, the next I'm in it"

"That's not an explanation"

"What? What do you want me to say? The knights can get enchanted by Lamia, Gaius can get possessed by a goblin, your father can marry a troll but I can't be allowed to fall in some water?"

He would have gone on but the rant caused coughing and watery eyes as well as phlegm -thick green and sticky. Gone was the frantic arm-waving of before, replaced by a weary young man just trying to catch his breath. That was the end of that conversation and Merlin excused himself so he could continue his coughing in private.

During Merlin's delirium Arthur had been mistaken for a mother, an old man, and most surprisingly a young woman. Merlin had never mentioned a girl before and to be fair Arthur had never really considered it. He had never thought of his servant as anywhere other than at his side, serving him and his wife.  _Was it so unreasonable that his friend would want someone too? He wanted Merlin to be happy but he did not want to lose his friend's company. The thing that hurt and really annoyed him was Merlin had never shared any of this with him, had never trusted him._

The more Arthur thought about it, the more the blond knight questioned if he really knew the man he thought was his friend. There were marks that marred the dark-haired man's slender frame that revealed a past far darker than the wide-eyed innocence the king had chosen to believe; and then there were the agonising shouts from his fevered sleep that implied Merlin's life was not always carefree as everyone thought.

Arthur had to postpone his interrogation, but he would not give up. He was a skilled strategist, trained since birth to find his opponent's weakness and break down their defences. Merlin was holding out on him and he would get the secrets out of his friend.

It was time for them to have a talk.


	7. Remembering and Remorse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Merlin reflects on what he might had done whilst delirious.

 

Everything hurt; his head, throat, ribs - especially the ribs (like being kicked by a horse). His bones ached and his stomach turned. Safe to say he had rarely felt worse. The simplest tasks exhausted him. When he could stand his own stench no longer, an attempt to clean himself ended in mortification. Armed with the remnants of Arthur's wash bucket and damp rag, Merlin had tried to freshen up. He'd removed his shirt and completed half his torso and then blacked out. He awoke flat on his bed, smelling better than before and in a fresh tunic – he had no idea who put him there and was too embarrassed to ask.

They had told him he'd nearly drowned, developed a fever and a chest infection – but he had no clear recollection. Merlin felt like a chunk of his life had gone missing - days he would not get back. Then he wondered if he'd really want them back. He had tried remembering what had happened but it was difficult, there were wisps of images but nothing he could latch onto with any certainty. If anything, it was the emotions he recalled; terror, resentment and a furious anger all featured but exactly what had provoked such responses he did not know - he could guess of course. It was one of the reasons he had to be in total control all the time – always on guard. Why he could not drink in excess or lose his temper, for to lose control could mean to lose the tight reign he had over his gift. Alcohol could loosen any man's tongue; it could heighten what was buried and bring it to the fore, whereupon it could be acted on. He could not afford for that to happen. Merlin had so many secrets; so much pain stowed away, to let it out would break the dam and the torrent released would cause all manner of harm and destruction.

The warlock kept getting flashbacks – he was not sure if they were bits of nightmares or snippets of fact. The only clear images he had were those prior to plunging into the ocean. He had been on the deck looking down into the waves; it had made him think of the ones he had lost. He did not often dwell on Freya and what could have been but he had been consumed by an overriding feeling of melancholy for all that he had been denied. The desire to see and be with her rose to the extent he had found himself floundering in the water and battling the creature that had befuddled and bewitched him. He had been victorious in defeating the monster but it had cost him dearly; if Arthur had not dragged him out he would have perished.

What a fool he had been, not only had he risked his own life but twice over that of the king. If he died Arthur would not be protected and Arthur could have lost his life when attempting the rescue. How stupid and irresponsible, he could almost hear Gaius chastise him for his actions. He let out a long sigh which turned into a hacking cough only terminating when phlegm cleared his throat. He tried to ease his gullet with some water and some of the herbs from the physician's bag. It was funny he was so sure Gaius had been with him, but then so had his mother and his love.

Merlin considered what his life could have been if he had escaped with Freya all those years ago.

When he met her he was so young, he loved her without question – he still did - but he was so optimistic then; he thought no problem insurmountable, no soul incapable of being saved and that as long as a decision was made for the right reasons then he could live with it. He still wanted to believe that was the case, but it was so much harder now, sometimes his belief hung by a thread. Life was not like that – his life at any rate. He had lost so many. The all powerful Emrys had failed to save them - the lives of his loved ones had been taken anyway. Getting angry would not bring them back, revenge would not lessen the blow, and it's not what they would have wanted.

Had she survived, would he and Freya have had the idyllic life he had dreamt about (surrounded by the mountains and beside a beautiful lake) or would they as magic users have been hunted and hounded, never being able to find peace? If Freya had remained cursed could he have lived with that? It wasn't her fault, but lives would have been lost; innocent lives that he would untimely be responsible for.

The real question was could he actually have turned his back on Arthur and his destiny? The young royal would have died many times over if he had not been there to shield him from harm. Arthur was a good king – not without fault- but Merlin had helped smooth and shape the diamond. What would Uther's son have become under the sole tutelage of his father? These were sobering thoughts, uncomfortable truths. Destiny had taken away those choices, had cleared all distractions and obstacles from Merlin's path so his only purpose was to serve Arthur. Merlin realised that ultimately he was happy in this role and he did not seek another. It was hard, the burden of it all felt overwhelming at times but even if he could, he would not give it up. Eventually the sacrifices would be worth it; eventually Arthur would know the truth.

They had confined him to the king's quarters which were much nicer than his bunk below deck, but he felt caged and sought fresh air and freedom. He yearned to have the earth under his feet, to see the green and browns of nature - but he would settle for the sky and sea. When he had snuck onto the deck, the atmosphere had changed. The crew were different with him, looked at him strangely and whispered in corners. This made him wonder what he'd done – made him feel paranoid.

When the warlock had asked the knights exactly what had happened, he could not get a straight answer. Leon had told him he'd been lucky to survive and that he had been very ill. The curly-haired man had explained the techniques they had used to help him breathe and clear his chest. Merlin was impressed - he had told the knight once his fighting days were over perhaps he should retrain as a physician. Leon had confessed much of the knowledge had been gained from Gaius' treatment of the boy who had almost drowned since their symptoms had been so similar. Merlin had physically paled - he remembered the boy. Gaius had been at his wit's end trying to save him - he survived, but not without the help of Merlin's magic; and it had taken weeks before he was fully well. If the two conditions were comparable then the servant was recovering too quickly and he hoped no one had noticed that. The warlock knew he had a fever and had asked if he'd done anything he should be concerned about or apologise for. As Gaius' apprentice he had seen plenty people do and say all manner of strange and embarrassing things whilst delirious (but he had more to hide than most and was terrified he had let something slip). The knight had merely told him to concentrate on getting better and not worry about such matters. Strangely, Merlin was not reassured by the response.

As he looked about the cabin, Merlin noted scorch marks on the wall that had not been there previously. The chair had a corresponding black stain and the warlock could only think of one cause for those markings. The room was in a bit of a state, he feared his magic had been responsible for rearranging and smashing the items strewn on the floor and hoped he had not revealed his secret.  _Would he be here if he had?_  Arthur had seemed genuinely pleased to see him awake (although he tried not to show it), a reaction he would have been unlikely to receive if the king thought he was harbouring a sorcerer. Arthur had been a little odd, a little reserved, and Merlin wondered why but then figured it's not every day a servant goes loopy without warning and jumps over the side of a ship. These thoughts plagued him like a knife at his side, pointed reminders something was wrong. He knew the king better than he knew himself and the royal was clearly bothered about something - he could tell by the way the blond man grasped his hair in frustration and was a little snappy and irritable. Even in the servant's less than sharp state he would notice Arthur staring off into space as if trying to solve a complex problem – either that, or the king had something unpleasant stuck between his teeth.

It made him nervous – he could feel something brewing in the same way one could sense the coming of a storm.

When Merlin thought he was going to die and there was no way out, he had wanted Arthur to know. He had wanted to tell him he had magic and to be judged for who he really was and what he had done. He could not stand the thought of taking his secret to his grave. Only now, as he felt his health improve and the threat withdraw, so too did his courage. He was scared to tell Arthur. There was so much at stake. He told himself the king was not ready, the time was not right, but that was not true – he was not ready. Emrys the mighty warlock was a coward and he hated himself for it.

The servant did not like all this introspection, he had many dark thoughts and regrets that he liked to push from his mind by keeping busy rather than drowning in the weight of his burdens and mistakes. Keeping Arthur safe usually provided such a distraction but on this ship there was little to do but think. The talks had been successful, they were on their way home and Merlin had thought them free from threats out in the middle of the ocean - until he himself had become the centre of the squall.

The warlock rubbed his aching brow and drew the blanket around his shoulders. He began to tidy up. He could have used magic, but did not want to be spotted. He could just imagine what the old captain would do if he got caught. The warlock shuddered, at the slightest hint of anything mystical he bet the ancient seafarer would have the perpetrator walking the plank without a trial or explanation. The old man reminded him of Uther, he was power mad and superstitious. The captain had even turned up in his dreams unbidden - such was the extent to which he made Merlin feel uncomfortable. The servant pitied any unfortunate soul on the receiving end of Captain Tobin's wrath and was relieved he had done nothing to anger the man.

He took comfort in the familiar work, a welcome occupation for his mind. The warlock could feel his magic buzzing and tingling under his skin and did not want to strain it. His gift was trying to heal him – he knew things would not have improved so quickly otherwise. His secretions had gone from thick, green, and stringy to almost clear and were now much easier to rid himself of.

The act of organising and clearing things away was much harder than he had anticipated. He had to stop several times to catch his breath and clear his chest. Job done, Merlin collapsed back onto his bed, the makeshift cloak still about his shoulders, and promptly fell into a deep sleep. That is where the king found him several hours later, sprawled snoring and content. Arthur had cursed Merlin for exhausting himself for the sake of a clean room but secretly he was glad the servant was feeling better and like his old self again - but most of all that he had his friend back.

They had at least another day before port was reached. His friend was stronger now; he would be able to tolerate a discussion. When Merlin awoke they would have a little chat - he would not be able to avoid it. Like it or not, the king wanted answers and his servant would give them to him.


	8. The Talk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur begins his interrogation of Merlin.

Chapter 8: The Talk

At his own request Merlin had resumed light duties. As he busied himself in Arthur's quarters he took the time to observe his sovereign. The king looked weary and was brooding. The royal sat with his elbows resting on the desk and his hands tightly clasped, supporting his chin and the weight of the world.

"Something on your mind Sire?" Merlin volunteered in a bid to get the monarch to open up. The king remained mute for a moment looking into the middle distance but then he turned, fixing his cool blue eyes on his servant and Merlin was suddenly reminded of how a deer must feel, being cornered by the knight on a hunt.

"Merlin, do you remember much from when you were ill?" The question was deliberate and searching.

"No" the moisture left the warlock's mouth.  _Where is this leading?_

"Are you aware you spoke in your sleep?" After only receiving a blank stare, Arthur continued, "you said and did some very bizarre things." The blond knight left the statement hanging to give Merlin a chance to respond and supply an explanation.

The servant's heart rate picked up, it felt so loud he was sure the king could hear it. He plastered on a smile, but looked anything but happy. Perspiration was already forming on his brow and it trickled down his spine making the linen shirt stick to his back.

_Did Arthur really know?_  He had been delirious and could have said and done anything. He knew he'd used magic – had seen the evidence _. Did my eyes flare gold? Did they witness me performing a spell or hear me speak in the tongue of the old religion?_ It had happened before _–_ when he'd been poisoned, Gaius said his magic worked without his conscious control.  _If Arthur suspects me, why wait until now? Why the pretence of getting me better?_   _Perhaps it's a knight thing – Arthur is honourable, he would not put a sick man on trial and now I'm no longer sick._

His friend had asked him what happened, why he had ended up in the ocean, and the secret sorcerer had almost blurted it all out. Merlin had cursed his loose mouth at the time, he had been too tired and tetchy to think things through properly and had responded without thinking - but the king had let him be – he had not pursued the matter until now.  _Had Arthur really worked everything out?_

The king let out a big sigh; despite the breadcrumbs he left, his servant had not picked up the trail. In fact his servant was just standing there looking simple. Arthur had spent a lot of time mulling over Merlin's delusional utterances and his imagination had made all sorts of presumptions, thoughts he wanted to shrug off as false. He had wanted his friend to supply an outlandish but plausible rationalisation for his strange behaviour (like he usually did) but the dark-haired man was uncharacteristically quiet.

The king felt he had no choice but to voice his conclusions, "Have you been keeping secrets from me Merlin?"

That got a reaction.

"I..., I...," he coughed, his words catching on a dry throat and interrupting his stammering "I...," but it was no good - Merlin started convulsing in earnest.

"Why couldn't you just tell me?" The blond man asked, "Why did I have to find out this way?"

_This was it – after all these years Arthur finally knew. What was he going to do – what would happen? What about Gaius and his mother? They were in the middle of the ocean; there was no way out of this. Maybe Arthur would understand; they had been through so much, it had to count for something. Perhaps if he could hear him out it would be alright._

His head started to spin, his ears pounded, but the hacking continued until his eyes watered and he expectorated the last of his sputum into a handkerchief. Whilst he caught his breath and tried to keep the black dots that swam across his vision at bay, the king continued.

"Were you just going to run away?" He sounded annoyed. The royal slowly blinked and pinched the bridge of his nose before looking directly at his servant with sad eyes, "would I have woken up one morning to find you had not turned up for work? That you had just upped and gone?" The king pulled a face, gesturing with his hands, not giving the object of his frustration time to speak.

"Would you have done that – leave with no explanation? I thought we were friends."

Merlin was panting heavily; he felt dizzy, more spots danced in front of his eyes and he could feel himself start to sway and lose his peripheral vision. Strong hands guided him to a seat and thrust a cup of water into his trembling fingers. Arthur guided the fluid to his servant's mouth because there was no way it would get there by itself.

The king began again, soft and gentle this time. "Why hide the girl from me Merlin, if you met someone and were planning to leave, why didn't you say anything?"

_What?_

The dark-haired man stared at his king dumbfounded, mouth ajar. The statement was not what he had been expecting. He was not thinking straight, if he had been calm and rational he would have known precisely to whom the king referred, but he was not - so instead answered:

"What? What girl? There is no girl."

"Then who is Freya?"

The clay cup slipped from his fingers, struck his boot, and shattered; jagged shards falling to the floor. Merlin should have yelped as the cup hit the dorsum of his foot (still tender after being dragged across the deck by the knights) but he did not feel it, he did not even flinch. He was numb from a greater pain.

The only sound was that of heavy breaths and the broken pieces moving in time with the creaking ship.

"Merlin?"

The young man stared into space, seemingly deaf. The king clicked his fingers in front of the man's ashen face, but it made little difference.

"MERLIN!"

The servant visibly jumped and seemed to shake himself out of his daze. He dropped heavily onto his knees and immediately began to clear the broken pieces of crockery. His hands shook so much he kept dropping the bits he'd collected and only succeeded in cutting his fingers. Arthur's calloused hands grasped slender wrists and he guided his friend back onto the chair. He wrapped Merlin's blanket around his shoulders, giving his arms a gentle squeeze through the fabric, and secured a cloth roughly round the stunned man's bleeding hand. The action triggered the servant to speak, slowly and devoid of emotion.

"It was a long time ago, years. I loved her and I would have left to be with her."

"So it was that serious?"

Merlin's head shot up, his cheeks were flushed and his expression flashed with anger. "Why is that so hard to believe? That someone would want a clumsy idiot like me? Someone would care? I'm not completely useless."

Ordinarily no servant could speak to a king like that, but Merlin was no ordinary servant and his emotions were simmering too close to the surface. Arthur's words had caused them to boil over. He'd been so busy thinking about not revealing his magic, giving away his relationship with Freya had not even entered his head and now he was defensive and lashing out.

Arthur was taken aback, "that's not what I meant" he began, but Merlin cut him off, calmer now, resigned,

"It doesn't matter - it was not to be."

After a long pause Arthur prompted "what happened?"

Merlin bit his lip, wrestled with his fingers and eventually let out a sigh.

"She died" he said flatly.

When Arthur could bear the silence no longer he responded "I'm sorry Merlin, I had no idea."

"You weren't meant to."

"Did I even know her?"

"No one knew her, understood her, not like me. I loved her despite everything." The servant's voice was little more than a whisper – yet it filled the room.

Arthur was beyond curious now, who was this woman from Merlin's past who meant so much but had never been mentioned?

"Who was she?"

Merlin's head dipped, when he brought it up again he was blinking rapidly and scanning the room, his gaze came to rest on the floor and he began to tease and pick at the threads of his tunic with nimble fingers. Eventually he looked up and directly at his king.

"She was a druid."

Arthur's breath hitched, his mouth made a perfect 'O' before slowly closing and becoming pursed lips. It all made sense, of course it did, why Merlin had not said anything, why he had been so secretive - but there was more and Arthur remembered the accusation his servant had shouted in a fevered rage.

"You said I killed her."

"I don't remember." Merlin had turned his head away, unable to look at his king.

"But is it true? Did I kill her?"

Silence.

"Merlin? Is it true?"

Silence.

The king knew the answer before his servant's barely audible reply.

"Yes."

The colour drained from Arthur and he had to support himself against the table. The thing he was most ashamed of and had tried to bury for years had yet again come back to haunt him, and he deserved it. He had been responsible for the death of innocent druids, women and children. It was at his father's request but he could not absolve himself of blame or wash the blood from his hands. He had been there, given the orders; he relived the horror of it in his darkest days. As king he had pardoned the druids, he swore they would be welcome in Camelot and no longer persecuted, but it did not make up for the past.

"Merlin, I don't know what to say" and truly he didn't, he'd picked at a scab and now he did not know how to stem the bleeding.

He had encountered many that had lost loved ones to the purge and more often than not they had sought revenge against him, his father, or Camelot and now he looked at his servant and saw the most loyal man he knew. How could Merlin stand to be in the same room as him after what he had done?

Merlin had not looked up, had not changed position, he had kept his gaze firmly on the floor.

"How can you not hate me?"

His friend (if the king could still call him that) slowly turned to face the monarch with slightly glazed and bloodshot eyes. Merlin said in a voice laced with emotion:

"You were only doing what you thought was best, what you thought you needed to do to protect Camelot" after a pause he added, "I can't blame you for that."

Arthur just stared for a moment, he could not believe it. Never before had he met anyone with such compassion, with such a capacity for forgiveness. If their places had been reversed, if someone had killed Guinevere, would he have shown mercy? No, his pride and the resources he had at his disposal would have made him seek revenge. True, Merlin did not wield the power to exact retribution but the point was he did not want to. Suddenly Merlin's dislike of hunting and the taking of any form of life did not seem so trivial anymore. After all, had it not been his servant who had begged him not to execute King Caerleon? Instead he'd listened to that traitor Agravaine and war had only just been avoided. Had it not been his servant that told him it took strength to forgive?

Merlin was strong - maybe not in the physical sense, but in his character. The modest servant was stronger than all of them, noble knights included - and the thought humbled the king.

"I'm sorry."

Truly he was. He'd had no idea Merlin held such a secret. It was something no one should have had to bear alone, and perhaps now his friend wouldn't have to.

Merlin's response was a watery smile.

They sat in silence, neither looking each other in the eye. Merlin shrugged off his blanket and made to leave – relieved it was over.

The king heard the scrape of the chair, the rustle of fabric, his servant was going to go and he did not want him to - not yet. The royal spoke.

"How did you get the scars Merlin?" The servant paused, shoulders tense, then flopped back into his chair and held his head in his hands.

Judging by Merlin's reaction, the king knew he was onto something; his servant was beyond tired and would not be able to resist his questions. It was a little unfair to pursue Merlin like this but Arthur needed to know what else was hidden, there was more and he had only scratched the surface.

Merlin's heart sank, his king had finally prised open the box that housed all his secrets and worst fears and he wanted nothing more than to slam it shut before any further truths escaped; but it was too late.

_This is it -_   _finally I will know the truth._  Arthur thought as he watched Merlin bring his head up reluctantly and open his mouth to speak.


	9. Scars and Explanations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur endeavours to discover the origin of Merlin's many scars.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here is the penultimate chapter, hope you enjoy it. Sorry for the delay I wanted to post my Halloween inspired fic, 'The Golden Skull of Ode' before Halloween ended.

 

"How did you get the scars Merlin?"

Arthur's words rung through his head like a death knell. He wanted to escape, but where to? He wanted to run, but even if he could Merlin doubted if his legs would get him very far. He slumped back into the chair, captive again, and resigned himself for what was to come - but he wasn't going down without a fight.

"I'm clumsy." He supplied in a clipped tone.

"Don't give me that, I've carried dead knights back with fewer marks on them than you."

Arthur was angry now; he was fed up with playing games. The scars that riddled his friend's body had not been acquired in one sitting, on the contrary, they were different ages, no doubt accumulated over several years, and some new layered over old. Some were silver and barely visible save the changed texture; some were fresh and purple - raised cuts, burns, and marks whose origin could only be guessed - and all this time he had no idea.

Arthur had a foothold and he would not give up his advantage, "what about the burn on your chest – did you get _that_  being clumsy?"

"NO!" The servant shot back.

He got up and started pacing.

"Someone tried to kill my mother; I couldn't let that happen." He was almost shouting, gesturing with his hands. "I got in the way, they went after the ones I love and I had to stop them." His voice was hoarse and the effort of the statement was evident in the rise and fall of the slender man's shoulders and how he clasped at his chest - clearly his body had not recovered sufficiently from his illness.

Merlin's fury and defensiveness surprised Arthur.  _Who could possibly want to harm Hunith or her son and why?_  The king found himself getting irate on his servant's behalf.

"What happened to this person? Where are they now?" Arthur was all but ready to hunt them down and make them pay for their crime.

"No need to worry" the warlock said bitterly, "they're not around anymore. They got burnt and are no more than ash."

"You were responsible?" The question had shot out of the monarch's mouth before he'd realised what he said.

His servant stopped moving and looked at him with a pained expression.

"I didn't want to, I had no choice. I was...," the warlock found it hard to continue. "I was so angry and it was the only way, it just..." Merlin trailed off.

He brought his hand up to his face, fingers rubbing against his forehead.  _Go on Arthur, ask who it was._ He inwardly goaded. _When I tell you it was Nimueh the game will be over, because how can someone like me defeat a High Priestess of the Old Religion?_

Merlin took in the look of shock on Arthur's face.  _You think that's the only one? You have no idea how many I've killed trying to protect you!_  The warlock studied his hands, as if expecting to see the blood on them. _When did I become the one to judge - the executioner? The end justified the means, didn't it?_  But this was not what he had envisaged for himself when he'd arrived in Camelot, young and full of expectations.

The royal felt like he had been punched in the stomach. Taking a life was never easy, and it was certainly not something he associated with his servant. Arthur was a knight and killing was part of what he was trained to do, but even when necessary it was still hard. There was an unsaid rule between his brothers that they did not discuss the deaths, just acknowledged that they happened. Merlin had obviously been forced to kill in self-defence but he was not a soldier, he should not have to deal with that. Even as battle-hardened warriors it did not matter how many souls they took, all were remembered and haunted them in their dreams. Merlin hated the taking of life; he showed his displeasure on hunts and even spared spiders when he cleaned rather than stamping on them with his foot. Arthur knew that causing a death, even to save another and in self-preservation would be a heavy burden on his friend.

The king did not need to know the details, but based on the evidence it would appear to have been some sort of fire. The scar was old; the burn looked severe and must have taken considerable time to recover from. The monarch thought back to a conversation he'd had with his servant years ago when he'd asked the young man what had made him leave his home and come to Camelot – Merlin had said he didn't fit in. Was that what made him leave? Had he been attacked in his own home and had to defend himself?

"Did you get beaten in Ealdor?" The royal asked, fishing for a response.

Merlin just stared at his king, incredulous.  _Where had that come from?_ _When had Arthur become so inquisitive?_ Usually his blond friend accepted the half-truths he was fed and did not ask questions, but here he was finally paying attention, digging around. His logic was way off - but at the rate he was going he would uncover what desperately needed to stay hidden.

Ironically, Merlin had been beaten in his village - but nothing too serious. The fact he had to let it happen until he was old enough to control his magic and secretly defend himself hurt more than any injuries he acquired. When Merlin arrived in Camelot his skin was unblemished, now it bore scars of battles and mistakes - as did his heart and soul. At least the physical ones did not bother him, did not hinder or hurt.

Arthur took Merlin's expression as confirmation of his assumptions. The king could not change the past but some of Merlin's injuries had been recent and he intended to find out about them.

"What about the recent ones?"

The younger man looked thoroughly dejected, he had hold of his dark locks and for a moment Arthur thought he was going to see clumps of hair on the floor, but Merlin slapped his arms down, balled his hands into fists and started to stride about with nervous energy.

"Arthur, I am your friend and your servant. I've told you before, I am happy to serve you until the day I die." The young man caught his breath, then pressed on "when you go to war, I willingly go with you; when you defend Camelot, I am at your side; sometimes in that process I get hurt."

"You always seemed fine" the royal said incredulously. "Damn it Merlin, why didn't you say something?"

"It's not important."

The king slammed his hand down on the desk in frustration. "Merlin, I dived into the ocean after you; I broke the knight's code and lied for you. It is important!" He shouted.

It was all he could do not to grab hold of the skinny young man and shake some sense into him, even though he knew that would just start another coughing fit. The blond man sighed, calmer now. " _You are important._ "

"You lied for me?" The sorcerer had stopped pacing and was staring at his king.

Arthur cursed himself for the admission, he had not wanted his servant to know the captain's suspicions because he knew it would only cause embarrassment and upset. However, he had let the cat out the bag and now it was running around the cabin and practically nuzzling Merlin's leg. The king reluctantly explained what had happened.

"The captain thought you were possessed by evil spirits." The royal said evenly.

"Why- why would he think that?" The slight flush Merlin had generated when pacing vanished, leaving him pale and drawn.

The king did not want to say, but felt compelled to do so. "You were deranged Merlin – out of your mind, and he thought you attacked three men."

"What!" The servant lost all remaining colour. "Was anyone hurt?" He squeaked.

"Don't be ridiculous." Arthur was annoyed at the interruption and that his servant could believe such an absurd thing. "Percival slipped, Leon tripped, and some crew member bumped into you and knocked himself out." Feeling uncomfortable under Merlin's wide-eyed gaze the monarch continued.

"Look, Captain Tobin was angry, he thought you had magic..." but Arthur did not finish his sentence before Merlin cut him off, fumbling with his speech in haste.

"You said," he struggled "you said he thought I was possessed by evil spirits."

The king was irritated at being contradicted and threw his arms up in the air, shaking his fists.

"What difference does it make? Evil spirits, magic – it's all the same!"

"No it's not."

Arthur could not believe his ears; he was supposed to be the one controlling the conversation. Turning his back to hide his irritation he said through gritted teeth, "why do you care so much about the semantics?" looking to the ceiling he gestured with his hands exasperated. "What does it matter?"

Suddenly a glass vial whooshed past Arthur's ear, hitting the wall and exploding on impact - simultaneously Merlin let out a primal roar.

"BECAUSE NOT EVERYONE WHO HAS MAGIC IS EVIL!"

_What the hell?_ The king spun around, furious and ready to challenge the younger man. He stopped in his tracks.

"I'm sorry – I don't know... I'm sorry..." Merlin had his hands over his face, cowering and stumbling backwards while apologising profusely. "I did not mean... I'm sorry." He finally hit the opposite cabin wall and slid down it.

The royal had been angry but Merlin's reaction astounded him – it was like he thought the king would have him executed for the outburst and Arthur found himself feeling hurt,  _how could his friend think such a thing?_  As he worked his way towards the distressed servant, realisation slowly dawned _. Freya was a druid – druids have magic._ The monarch cursed. He had congratulated himself on extracting a secret from his reluctant servant, had discovered Merlin's forbidden love - then insulted her memory within an hour of holding the precious information.

The servant was sitting on the floor with his arms wrapped around his knees, rocking. Arthur laid a tentative hand on Merlin's shoulder. "I should not have said that" the king admitted.

Merlin looked up, his deep blue eyes penetrating the very soul of the monarch. "It's what you believe" he croaked.

Arthur dropped down so he was sitting next to his friend, "it's what I've been taught; it's what I've experienced."

The sorcerer nodded, but his gaze remained fixed ahead. It was true wasn't it? – All Arthur's experiences with magic had been traumatic and terrible – the ones the royal knew of. The king was oblivious to how Merlin's gift had saved him countless times. The warlock knew Arthur would only change his opinion if he could see the true beauty and wonder of pure magic - if only he could witness it being used for something good. How could Merlin tell him about himself and the things he had done without revealing layers of lies and deception _?_ So many of the people Arthur had loved and trusted turned their back on him, their treachery nearly causing the monarch's ruin. The revelation his servant was a warlock would be yet another betrayal and it would destroy the king - Merlin could not do it. _I need to tell him the truth but I can't do this right now – I'm not strong_ _enough, I'm not in control_.

The king bit his lip, his companion had turned away and looked deep in thought. He watched as a solitary tear escaped and made a track down Merlin's cheek. The servant hastily brought up the back of his hand so the droplet was intercepted and absorbed into the sleeve of his tunic as if it had never been there. He was at a loss; the royal knew how to rally his knights, how to liaise with dignitaries and other kingdoms, how to motivate and inspire his people but not how to console his friend. Right now that seemed to be what was most important.

They sat silently. His father had taught him of the immorality of the old religion, the wickedness of it and how they had suffered because of it. Arthur had lost a great deal to magic, that much was true and he hated how the mere mention of the word caused sorrow. But had he not been saved by a sorcerer? Merlin's childhood friend had died for him back in Ealdor even though the man had shown him nothing but scorn when he'd been alive. It would also appear that his servant's love may have had magic. Arthur inwardly sighed _, why is nothing ever straightforward or simple?_

"I know the druids are a peaceful people, I have no quarrel with them," the king conceded. He had made a promise to their community and the knight would keep his word.

Merlin looked up; it took a great deal for the son of Uther to acknowledge that. The royal had changed and grown over the years and it warmed the warlock's heart – perhaps there would eventually be a place for magic in Camelot, but not right now.

"Thank you." The sorcerer did not trust himself to say any more, he'd already said too much. More time passed and in a bid to move things on Merlin spoke, his voice steady again.

"So what did you tell the captain?"

Arthur was grateful for the change of subject and answered with gusto. "Oh, we told him you were drunk."

A short pause and Merlin snorted, threw back his head and let out a mirthless laugh.

"It's not funny Merlin!" Arthur was indignant, "he wanted to throw you off the ship!"

The servant continued to laugh and wipe tears from his eyes, becoming slightly hysterical. "Every single time," he said under his breath.

"What was that?" The king's temper started to fray.

"It doesn't matter- it's not important" Merlin shrugged.

"There you go again" Arthur threw out his arm, swiping the air with his hand. "It is important - why all the secrecy? I asked you about the scars - why didn't you just tell me at the time you were hurt?" The monarch thundered, clearly vexed.

Merlin opened his palms and gestured to the blond man to hear him out, all humour gone.

"You're the king; after battles the city is damaged, knights and civilians have died and you deal with telling wives and mothers. You have to build Camelot up again and get the people to believe they are safe, that the city is strong. Arthur, how can I burden you with my injuries when I walk and others don't; how can I lay that on your shoulders when you already carry the weight of a kingdom? It is my job to lighten the load so you can do yours. You are a great king Arthur, and if I have to keep things from you so you can continue to lead and inspire, I will." The servant was sincere in his delivery and continued, "but know this: I am, and always will be loyal to you and Camelot."

The king sighed, all his anger ebbing away; Merlin could be very wise sometimes – astute beyond his years and status. How could he fault his servant's reasoning? The man was right, as he often was.

The royal looked into earnest blue eyes.

"You can tell me now," he challenged.

 


	10. Confessions and Realisations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will Arthur get the truth from Merlin?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So here is the final chapter, I hope you enjoy it. Thanks so much to everyone who has commented and added kudos - it means the world to me. THANK YOU!

Arthur had listened as Merlin explained why he had not disclosed his injures or revealed his scars – it was a compelling argument, but it was not enough.

"You can tell me now," he challenged.

"Now?"

"Yes, Merlin, or is there somewhere more important you need to be?"

"No Sire."

The king had stood, circling around to stand behind a chair where his fingers now drummed on the back. He gestured at the vacant piece of furniture, indicating it should be occupied.

Merlin made his way onto his feet wearily. He dropped his head, shoulders slumped, and slowly walked toward the chair. He shuffled like an insolent teenager, spun on his heel, folded his arms, and dropped onto the hard wood.

"You already know about the mace, you were there." The warlock said sullenly, pointing to his left breast.

Arthur remembered it well; it was one of the few times, if not the only time he had recalled Merlin being injured after a fight with bandits – how wrong he appeared to be in that assumption. The wound was serious and his servant had been in a bad way, though Merlin had tried to make light of the situation. Then the rockfall happened, they were separated, the dark-haired man was lost, presumed dead. Then he turns up in a bog, as right as rain and bright as a button. The king had been so grateful his servant had been found unharmed and apparently well that he had not stopped to wonder how he'd recovered so quickly. The scar indicated the injury had been as traumatic as it appeared at the time. He would have to come back to that; right now however, he wanted to push on with the inquest.

"The horizontal cut on the back of your neck."

Merlin's finger traced the raised line that was usually hidden under the knot of his neckerchief - how to explain the gift from Morgana? Agravaine's deception was no longer a secret, but he would have to explain about the fomorrah and how he vanquished it and he just could not face that right now- so he opted for simple.

"Gaius."

"Excuse me, GAIUS?"

"I had a lump under the skin, it was bothering me and affecting my work, Gaius cut it out."

"Sounds serious."

"It could have been, but he removed it all the second time, it won't grow back now - all safe." His servant gave a nervous smile.

Arthur was sure he was missing something. When had his servant's performance dipped? True, Merlin was terrible at his job - but at least he was consistent. He'd not noticed anything different or wrong but it would appear there were a lot of things about Merlin he'd been unaware of.

"What was it?" The royal said absently.

"What was what?"

"In your neck, what did Gaius get rid of?"

Merlin swallowed; he'd thought he'd gotten away with it, the stone would be left unturned - apparently not. The warlock ran his tongue over his teeth in a desperate bid to find some moisture to lubricate his dry mouth, he chewed his lip and picked at his cuticles. There is no way around this; I will have to tell him the truth. He took a moment to close his eyes and brace himself for his king's reaction.

"A fomorrah."

The glare Arthur gave told Merlin his explanation was not sufficient.

"It's a kind of snake."

The monarch looked like he was going to vomit.

"High Priestesses used them to control someone's mind. That time I got injured with the mace, after we were separated, I woke up in Morgana's hovel - she enchanted me to kill you," he blurted out in a rush.

"But you were able to resist?"

Merlin winced and shook his head. "No, it worked, but I was a terrible assassin." He answered, abashed, rubbing the nape of his neck.

The king was livid. For a minute he stood speechless before unleashing his wrath.

"I don't believe this!" He was almost feral, jabbing his finger inches from his quarry's chest, "you weren't going to tell me were you? After all we've spoken about, you would still let me think there was nothing wrong?" Arthur shouted accusingly.

Why did people keep hiding things from him?

Merlin flinched as Arthur's words hit him as hard as any physical blows. He shifted awkwardly in his seat, but remained silent.

Arthur turned away and brought his hand to his face. His anger was for the witch more than his friend. How had Morgana come so close? She'd managed to infiltrate the very heart of Camelot. How could she be so underhanded as to try and get to him by hurting those he held close? The answer was simple: Agravaine. The attempt had failed and he had been none the wiser. The royal had the uncomfortable feeling there were a lot of things going on in his kingdom that he was not privy to and that irked him.

The royal had his back to Merlin with his hands on his hips, shoulders taught and head tilted upwards. Eventually the tension left his body, his arms dropped loosely to his sides and he faced his servant.

"Gaius cut it out?"

The dark-haired man nodded.

"It's all gone?"

Another nod.

"So, let's get this straight, affecting your work equates to you trying to kill me," the king drawled sarcastically, "and I have your total incompetence to thank for keeping my life?"

"Something like that," was the sheepish reply.

The royal closed his eyes. When would it stop, when would people stop trying to bring Camelot to her knees and kill him? People got injured and died because of him; knights, Lancelot, Isolde, and his parents... He hoped he was a king worthy of the lives that had been lost. Once again, the thoughts were pushed aside, Arthur was more intent on discovering the origins of the large, healed but nasty-looking puncture wound in the centre of Merlin's spine.

"What about that one in the middle of your back?"

"I got stabbed."

"By whom?" The king's voice raised an octave.

"Morgause."

"Morgause stabbed you?"

"Not exactly."

Arthur was losing patience. "For goodness' sake, speak clearly." The physician's ward was picking up far too many habits from his mentor when it came to being evasive.

"When your father was ill, at the time of the skeletal army, I followed Morgana. She met with Morgause but they knew I was there; they tied me up and left me to the serkets. I was stabbed by one of them," the warlock supplied wearily.

"But a serket's sting is fatal."

"Apparently not."

"You should be dead."

"Well, there's no need to sound so disappointed."

"Merlin, this is not a joke, people don't just get up and walk away from something like that."

It was the warlock's turn to get angry now, "I did not just get up and walk away. It took days, I could barely crawl, my insides felt like they were on fire and I thought I was going to die and if I remember rightly when I got back to Camelot I told you that."

The king's next question had been instantly extinguished by his servant's frosty retort; instead he was forced to think back to the time when his servant had gone missing for days on end. On his return Merlin's explanation had been that he'd been dying.

"Well, how was I supposed to know you were telling the truth" Arthur objected.

If the royal thought about it there were numerous occasions when Merlin claimed to have saved his life, had told the monarch he would not survive without his servant; but that had been said in jest – hadn't it?

However, the king did not dwell on these matters; his attention was drawn to another more startling revelation. He had honed in on something else Merlin had said and he was incensed.

"Morgana was betraying us even then and you knew?"

"I suspected, that's why I followed her."

"You said nothing?"

"Would you have believed me? She was the king's ward; your father loved her- what's my word to that of a lady?" The warlock said with sour resignation.

"You could have tried."

"Could I, really? Like the time I warned you about Agravaine and you threatened to banish me?"

Arthur was taken aback at the viciousness in Merlin's words, but his servant had been cornered like an injured animal, was it any wonder it provoked the same response? It was true; so many times Merlin had tried to tell him things and Arthur had dismissed his protests only to find his friend's apparent sixth sense often proved right. His father would have executed a servant for making an allegation against the lady Morgana; it would have been considered treason. All the time his illegitimate sister had been at court misleading them Merlin had known and as a result had had a proverbial knife at his throat - yet despite the danger to himself he had stayed loyal and true to the king and Camelot.

It was not the first time Merlin had put himself in danger; there were other times when he had spoken out of turn and above his station as a servant. He had ended up in the dungeons, threatened with the loss of his position or exile for speaking his mind but his words had saved lives and Camelot. Valiant, Aredian the witch finder, and Agravaine all nobles the servant had lain accusations on; accusations that were not believed initially but turned out to be true. Once again Arthur marvelled at his friend; a peasant who would stand up to a king, who would give him counsel, support and loyalty. His friendship, that bond, was a prize beyond measure and even when Morgana stole his kingdom the royal was a rich man for knowing Merlin. Why then was it so hard to tell him of his value?

The remaining scars were mainly simple cuts and lacerations, most likely from swords and other blades. I will have to teach him to defend himself more effectively, the royal mused. There was a small mace mark on the servant's shoulder. Was that the one I gave him all those years ago during our fight in the market place? The king cringed, remembering himself back then; I was so pleased with myself, a trained warrior defeating a peasant novice. He had changed so much, thanks in no small part to the man before him. They had all been forced to grow up and bear the responsibilities of being an adult. He had envied Merlin, thinking he had a simple life, but he had been wrong.

The realisation that Merlin had been hurt and maimed because of him (more than once), but had not said anything because of some sense of duty made the royal's insides turn. Merlin stood by his side throughout all their adventures; his servant constantly moaned and argued and the king mocked and berated him on a daily basis, yet at the same time Arthur sought his company and companionship - without it he would be lost.

Arthur had dropped onto a chair, feeling as if he'd done a morning's training – this talking business was harder than it seemed. His head spun with all the new information and he was beyond comprehending any more. He looked over to his servant. The dark-haired man was exhausted; he had closed his eyes as if trying to rally himself for the next onslaught of questions. Suddenly, Arthur could not do this anymore. Enough was enough and he probably wasn't going to get much more out of his friend on this occasion. His servant was dead on his feet.

"You know Merlin, I think you are one of the bravest men I know," he said with genuine respect.

Merlin jerked, opened his eyes and cracked a smile - the tension over until the royal continued.

"The bravest and the most STUPID - don't keep things from me again." He got up, "I will not forget this, I don't like being lied to and I want to know everything in future – no secrets."

There was silence for a few moments, then Merlin looked up; eyes bright, testing.

"Everything?"

"Yes."

"How to make rat stew or how I get that that lovely sheen on your armour?"

"MERLIN!"

The warlock had to bring up an elbow to prevent the black leather glove that had been hurled at him from hitting his face.

There was a knock at the door; the two men were startled by it.

"Enter."

Leon bowed in respect and came into the room,

"Land has been sighted; we will arrive at port shortly."

"That's very good news, thank you Leon, that will be all." He flicked his wrist, "you're free to leave too Merlin, go and get yourself ready."

The knight and the servant both bowed, the former with respect the latter with a wide grin and twinkling eyes (having found a last reserve of energy from somewhere).

The king watched the curly-haired knight disappeared through the door, his servant close behind.

"Oh Merlin?"

The servant's arm paused halfway to the door and he turned his head in apprehension.

Arthur had his arms crossed, he looked up at the dark-haired man and said with a smirk and a voice laced in sarcasm.

"Just so we're clear: I do the throwing around here, understood?"

"Yes Sire." Merlin nodded, a crooked smile illuminating his features. It was an expression that had been missing from the servant's face for the last few days and its return was like the warmth of the sun emerging from behind the clouds. The younger man turned and exited the cabin.

Left alone the king rocked back on his chair, placed his hands behind his head and let out a low whistle. In the last few days Arthur had almost lost his best friend; first to the sea and then to a fever, but thankfully Merlin had pulled through. The monarch had even lied and defended him against an angry captain. He had discovered things about his servant; the young man had always intrigued and perplexed him. Merlin was a contradiction; a wise fool, a brave coward, and a terrible liar who kept secrets. Arthur congratulated himself on being able to get to the bottom of what his friend had kept hidden; they could be more open now. Who knew he bore such sadness or that he had carried a torch for a woman whose own light had been snuffed out years ago? A woman who died at the hand of a naive young prince too oblivious to know his terrible crime had already been forgiven. They would be home soon and Arthur vowed when they got back he would pay more attention; he would not let Merlin keep things from him ever again.

Once Leon had left his side Merlin slid down the wall and hugged his knees to his chest, letting his forehead rest on his arms. It took a moment for him to control his breathing. He had come so close to telling Arthur his secret, he had wanted to and Arthur had almost extracted it in his own way. If he'd pushed him much further he would have cracked. In the end he could not bring himself to do it – it was not the right time. The warlock was fed up of all the lies and deception and, although painful, it had felt good to finally let Arthur know about Freya. He felt lighter. But magic? Arthur was not ready for that, not yet. That wasn't the only problem. He had seen the look of betrayal in Arthur's eyes because he had not been open. What was he going to do when he found out his friend was a warlock and had been lying to him since the moment they met?

They would be home soon and when they got back Gaius would be disappointed and call him on being so stupid and putting himself and the king in danger. He did not need to be told. He would have to be careful; he would have to make sure his king did not suspect anything.

The gangplank was lowered and the small party was relieved to say goodbye to Captain Tobin and the crew. It was a joy to leave the ship and be back on dry land.

The king marched confidently in front, red cloak fanning out behind him. Merlin was two steps back, struggling with the bags. Just as their monarch had ordered, the knights had been taking the main weight of the luggage unbeknownst to Merlin. They had seen how embarrassed the servant had been following his near-drowning, how subdued and forlorn. They had a long journey ahead and they desperately sought entertainment from Merlin's witty remarks and jibes, it would not do to have the king and his servant ride in silence.

"Come on Merlin, don't be such a girl!"

"Have you felt the weight of these things? You packed far too many clothes. We were gone less than two weeks and half of this stuff has never even been on your back."

The servant's tirade was cut short as a glove hit him smack in the mouth.

"Cabbage head."

"I heard that."

"You were meant to."

Percival and Leon exchanged amused looks; it was good to have their king and his servant back to their bickering ways. Everything felt like it was getting back to normal and nothing had changed. It had of course - things would never be the same - but for now Arthur and Merlin took comfort in the familiar. When they got home things would be different, but right now everything needed to be the same for just a little bit longer.

Merlin was nauseous and his world was swaying. He was exhausted, which made him feel sick, his chest still hurt and he had to get used to being on solid ground again rather than the ebb and flow of the sea. If he stopped moving he was going to drift off, he was so tired. He kept giving himself a mental jerk to stay awake. The servant just wanted to sleep, just wanted to go home and wake up in his own bed. He missed Gaius and his routines. They would be back in Camelot soon and it could not come quick enough.

At long last he could hear the familiar sounds of wildlife. He soaked up the vision of different colours, the greens and browns of the earth; the scent of bracken, flowers and grasses. His magic was being renewed by contact with the elements and was joyful because of it.

He could scarcely believe what had happened over the last couple of days - how he managed to escape with his life and secret intact. Arthur had uncovered a lot but not his magic. Perhaps it was a lost opportunity but Merlin could not have dealt with the aftermath of the revelation in the state he was in. The royal had a pure heart, but he was also rash and stubborn. Telling him about his gift out in the middle of the ocean would not have gone well for anyone.

When they got home the king would be attending to affairs of state and spending some much-needed time with his neglected wife. There would be alliances to build with other kingdoms, assassination attempts to dodge, and servants to taunt; would Arthur really have time to pursue more questioning? Magic was what made Merlin whole, but having it and keeping it secret tore him apart. Had he told Arthur what Freya really was it would have just been another example of the misuse of magic and the harm it could do. He had not wanted that. He had not lied but neither had he been completely honest. The new trust that had been established over the last few days would shatter if Arthur knew the truth. Could the king forgive him? Would they ever be able to rebuild their relationship? As if trying to answer the question, the sun broke through the clouds, illuminating Merlin's face with warmth. It was as if nature herself were telling him to have faith. He did - there was no one he valued more than his king.

Arthur had been watching his servant. He had seen him waver and felt a pang of guilt; he knew Merlin was still getting over his illness and hoped their talk had not set him back. The king got Percival's attention and signalled to the knight to keep an eye on the skinny young man. In truth the invalid looked much better than he had a few days ago, but was still terrible. He had dark circles beneath his eyes, his skin was too pale and he'd lost more weight. Gaius would not be happy to have his ward returned in such a state and the king was not looking forward to telling the physician what had happened. They would rest soon, but he just wanted to put some distance between them and the harbour. When they got back to Camelot he would moderate Merlin's work load to make sure the servant was fully recovered.

The king had a lot to think about, he felt he had gotten to know the inner workings of Merlin much better but could not shake the feeling there was yet more to be revealed -that there were still pieces of the puzzle missing and he did not have the full picture. Bits of the conversations they had had replayed in his mind and he realised Merlin had omitted a lot. There were things he wanted to go over again when his friend was well.

The royal thought about the druids. He had promised them a better life, perhaps it was time he did something about that? Was it time to build some bridges, make amends for the past and find out more about the peaceful and knowledgeable community? They had been pardoned, but to really break down the barriers the druids had to become part of Camelot; to feel comfortable and be able to live and work there. Who knows, maybe one day a druid-born could become a knight - what would his servant make of that? It would not ease Merlin's pain but it would show his king was trying to put things right; to bring communities and kingdoms together, forge allies not enemies.

The sun emerged, the day was getting brighter and perhaps the future was too. Perhaps one day Arthur would build a kingdom to be proud of, one that would live on long after he'd passed.

The curly-haired knight observed the servant; he was putting on a good show of being better but clearly wasn't fully recovered. The dark-haired man's clothes hung off him and when he thought no one noticed he would lean against a tree, close his eyes and try to rally his strength before the familiar wide smile would emerge. Leon noticed, he was very observant and over the last week he had noticed and concluded many things.

He knew the servant was lucky to have survived his dip in the ocean and subsequent chest infection. Of the two boys pulled from a Camelot river all those months ago one had died and the other had taken weeks to get to the level Merlin was at now, even with the help of the kingdom's finest physician – curious. The servant had a surprising knack of defying the odds and what's more, anyone who was with the dark-haired man seemed to share his providence. When all was lost, Arthur escaped from Morgana; Merlin was with him on both occasions and both times the servant had somehow been instrumental in the royal's resurgence and subsequent defeat of the witch. Skirmishes with bandits seemed to go better than expected when Merlin was present, even if he appeared to be hiding during the action. His timorous behaviour during fights was belied by the scars on the servant's frame. Bystanders did not have marks like that. The myriad of cuts, burns, and puncture wounds would rival any found on a knight alive or dead – for most would not live through such injuries.

The strangest thing to explain was when the physician's ward had been delusional. The knights had taken it in turns to guard the king's quarters; Leon had entered after hearing a loud noise and seeing a flash of light. The cabin was in disarray but both occupants were unconscious; one peaceful, the other distraught and restless – but asleep nonetheless. The second time it happened he'd gone to get Percival. They had returned to see the cabin door open with a crew member slumped against the frame. Merlin was heading towards the deck and when the curly-haired knight tried to stop him he felt himself being forced backwards whereupon he collided with a bucket. A similar fate met Percival who suddenly found himself on the floor. Yet the servant had not looked at them, had not uttered a word; he just walked purposefully to the side of the ship until Arthur appeared and jumped on top of him.

Leon had been brought up during the reign of Uther. His family had told him what things had been like before the purge, for he had little memory of it. He had seen many things in his time as a knight, many attempts on the throne – a throne he swore to protect. He himself had lost his will to Lamia but had been given life by the druids. He did not know what to think. He had no proof, but there was enough circumstantial evidence to condemn the young man if he voiced his concerns.

The knight made a decision. He was going to scrutinize Merlin from now on, and he would monitor his movements. The servant was very close to the monarch, he had influenced the views and behaviour of the royal, had changed him.

Arthur had become a better man for knowing Merlin. The servant was loyal to Arthur and Camelot, even in the throes of fever the young man had bared his soul and sworn allegiance to the king. Merlin would do anything for Arthur, would lay down his life, and he would watch over and protect the royal in his own way.

The knight felt he had no choice but to do the same for Merlin, for hadn't the events of the last week shown that the young man needed someone to watch out for him too? He was sure Lancelot had assumed that role and now he would take over the mantle. He was proud to serve his king, to be a knight of Camelot and protect all the different people who made up her citizenry.

The small party loaded their belongings onto the horses and began their journey back toward the white towers of Camelot. They were glad to leave behind the events of the last few days and start afresh. They all longed to be back home in the company of loved ones, comrades and to experience the hustle and bustle of city life once more.

The knights knew the king and his servant's relationship was unconventional, they saw past the insults and mocking to the incredible bond between two friends and the strength each drew from it. Leon felt a great deal of respect for the young servant and an urge to keep him safe. All of the knights were confident and proud of their sovereign and the kingdom he was building and would do anything to defend it.

Merlin was laughing and to look at him he seemed not to have a care in the world, but that was not true. Arthur now knew that his servant carried much sorrow but buried it deep and hid it with a smile. The royal realised his friend put on a brave face for him in the same way he did for his kingdom and for the same reasons; to build confidence and reassurance. He had come to rely on Merlin's counsel and support. He knew now how much his friend did for him - but also how much he had sacrificed and kept concealed. He wanted to change that but he did not want to change their friendship, their banter. The king needed someone to tease him and call him names, who else could test him and make him feel like an ordinary man? Who else would speak plainly and honestly, would take a king's frustration but stand up to him when necessary? Arthur needed Merlin like a plant needed water and sunlight to grow. The monarch could never tell him directly of course, but his friend was very perceptive and could see beyond the jibes and jokes – at least he hoped so.

Merlin was still finding it difficult to process everything. It had taken a brush with death for the servant to realise Arthur did value him and respect his opinions. The thought of dying or being confined on a ship had been the impetus necessary for the warlock to finally share his secrets and half his soul with his king. Arthur had accepted the things he had done, believed in him when he was at his weakest and most vulnerable. Perhaps he could learn to accept his magic too? Until he did, until the truth was known, Merlin would never be whole - but what would it take for him to reveal his gift if near death was not enough? It scared the warlock to think about it. Instead he focused on the thoughts of home, of getting better. He needed to be well and at his best to protect Arthur. He would get strong again so he could fulfil his destiny – to help his friend and brother -The Once and Future King, build Albion. That was what he had been born to do – he was proud and happy to do it. He wouldn't change a thing.

THE END.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, there you have it, all finished.
> 
> I wanted to create a situation where Arthur could comfort and care for Merlin because in the TV series he seldom witness Merlin's suffering. I also wanted Arthur to appreciate some of the sacrifices Merlin has made and the burdens his servant carries. It was never my intention to have Merlin reveal his magic, because that becomes a whole different dynamic. 
> 
> To anyone interested, there is a sequel to this called the 'Final Truth' - I will post in a couple of days and create a link
> 
> Once again thank you for all the support – I would love to hear what you thought of it all. It feels sad to have finished but I have really enjoyed the experience (quite addictive) and hope you have too!


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